


The Origin of Love (Illustrated)

by ladyoflaurelindorenan, lavenderbee



Category: Dragon Age (Comics), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Adventure, Dalish, Dwarf, Elf, Elves, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, Love, M/M, Mage, Magic, Medieval, Multi, Multimedia, Ribald, Risque - Freeform, Romance, Salacious, Saucy, Self-Indulgent, Sexmagick, Sexual Tension, Sexy, rogue - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-04-02 15:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 131,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4065460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoflaurelindorenan/pseuds/ladyoflaurelindorenan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderbee/pseuds/lavenderbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Astrid Cousland is a dual-dagger-wielding rogue from a noble family. This fierce golden-haired beauty was expected to be a prim and proper lady, but she would prefer to take action than to attend balls. Despite her tomboy qualities, she is still a sucker for spring romance and tea time. </p><p>Calandriel Aurealin was born to a Dalish clan, but was brought to the Circle tower at age 12 when her magical power was discovered by templars. She lived in relative peace and harmony at the Circle until joining the Grey Wardens, along with Astrid. She cares deeply about the fate of her people, the elves.</p><p>These two women, accompanied by Alistair Theirin, must fight to save Ferelden from the Blight. Along the way, they forge friendships, kindle romances, and traverse Thedas. Will they fall in love AND succeed in their quest?</p><p>All illustrations were done by ladyoflaurelindorenan and lavenderbee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Origins

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to add that this story leans more so on the relationships of the companions in Dragon Age than on battles and fighting darkspawn. Lavenderbee and I both agree that the most fun, rewarding parts of the games for us are the friendships, romances, dialogues, and camp scenes, so that's what we're focusing on. There are some fight scenes and battle sequences throughout of course, too, but it's more about the characters and their interactions with each other than anything else. 
> 
> And saucy stuff! So if you're into that kind of thing (and I think most people reading fanfiction are), then I hope you will enjoy our story!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a playlist of mostly DA songs that I put together that makes for great reading accompaniment. It has inspired a lot of my writing. [Elvish Fantasy](https://youtu.be/lPrHBpUdhgA?list=PLFCujBWUZBL-lRaGfxMZaZG-C0seAfShT/)

Calandriel felt awkward and shifted her robes. She glanced to her right at the other new Grey Warden, Astrid Cousland, to see how she was carrying herself. Astrid stood erect in her leathers, seemingly emotionless. It was such a strange feeling to have just joined the Wardens and to have seen such loss at Ostagar. Looking around the other way, Calandriel saw survivors trying to arrange the fallen corpses in a slightly more dignified position until a proper burial could be arranged. Directly across from her stood the ex-Templar Grey Warden, Alistair. He was just on the tall side of average height for a man, with short clipped sandy hair and brown eyes, which were more of a telltale red at present. Alistair’s jaw was clenched, lest he show any more emotion than necessary. 

The elven woman felt so uncomfortable and out of place. At Ishal, she, Astrid, and Alistair had signaled at the correct moment, and fought as many of the darkspawn as they could. It had all moved so fast since joining the Wardens. She felt an imposter standing among those who had actually lost their lifelong companions. Calandriel wondered if Astrid felt the same way. She hadn’t talked much to the Cousland heiress, but had had her fair share of interactions with nobles in her lifetime. So many were so expectant, accustomed to manners and formality, just waiting for you to mess up. Calandriel had been relatively content at the Circle tower with her fellow mages, enjoying learning about magic. Having lived there since she first arrived at the age of twelve, she felt closer to some of her colleagues at the tower than she did to anyone. She missed her friends right now, and longed for some familiar face. She hadn’t seen many elves at all at Ostagar and felt doubly self-conscious of this. 

Whoever was speaking over the small gathering of survivors finished the remarks and everyone began to disperse. Calandriel was in such a daze from her first battle that she hadn’t even been paying attention to what had been said. She couldn’t believe Duncan was dead, the very man who had recruited her for the Wardens. Now was she obligated to stay? 

“Ahem, Calandriel,” she felt a tentative tap on her shoulder and turned around to see Alistair in front of her. 

“Umm, hello. I’m sorry, Alistair, I don’t really know what to say.” Calandriel muttered, almost under her breath.

Alistair inhaled, as though about to reply, but then sighed, shaking his head and looking at the ground. Astrid approached the two of them.

“Wardens,” she said, also unsure of herself.

Alistair brought his attention back to eye level.

“Oh good. You’re both here. I suppose we should discuss what we are doing next, seeing as we are the now representative Grey Wardens for the time being.” Alistair did not sound very excited about this realization.

“Doing next?” Calandriel asked, looking from Alistair over to Astrid’s large brown eyes. 

“Yes, Alistair. We’re not exactly veteran Wardens. What do we need to do to continue to fight the darkspawn? It seems on our own, we’re not a very large party, are we?” Astrid said, wanting to move things along.

Alistair shrugged, “Better than no Grey Wardens, I suppose…” He paused. “Before Duncan… passed… he imparted some knowledge with me. He said we were to seek the ancient treaties to call upon the aid of some of the most prominent factions throughout Thedas. That they would be bound by blood to rally to our cause if we needed them to. The only problem is, I don’t know where they are. He never got to that bit…” He paused again with a sigh, his chestnut eyes glassy. “We probably ought to head up to Lothering and see what news has spread there and also get you two some better equipment for the road.”

_Three Grey Wardens hitting the road,_ Calandriel thought, _sounds like the beginning of a great song._

They spent that night at Ostagar, preparing for the journey. Calandriel couldn’t help but still feel dirty even as she bathed in the nearby river. She may have been able to rinse away the putrid stench of the darkspawn taint, but the disgust and despair that she felt would take more than soap to cleanse away. With a final splash, she tilted her head back and rinsed the iridescent bubbles from her long, silvery hair, then walked toward the embankment where a fresh purple robe lay.

She lifted the garment over her head and let it slide down to cover her nakedness and felt slightly comforted. Her robes reminded her of days spent in the Circle tower. As a child living in the forest, clothes consisted of little more than rough-spun green and brown tunics and pants. Robes were worn only by the Keeper and the First, the mages of a Dalish clan. It wasn’t until she reached the Circle that she was given her very own robe. It had been purple, much like the one she wore now, only simpler. But to her, it had been the most beautiful and exotic thing she had ever seen. She smiled slightly at the memory of it. It had been the first bit of comfort she had experienced since being separated from her clan and brought to the Circle. 

She remembered bitterly what circumstances had brought her there all those years ago. A group of mages had escaped the tower and come to the Dalish seeking refuge. The Keeper had reluctantly agreed to harbor the apostates, for what reason Calandriel still could not understand to this day. A few days after arriving at their camp, they had been attacked by templar hunters, and both elves and apostates had perished in the onslaught. Calandriel and her parents survived, though she had not seen them since that fateful day. She was taken by the templars after having accidentally produced a spell of protection, thus proving her own magical talent. She felt the muscles in her neck and shoulders tense as she recalled the brutal journey to the tower. She had fought with all her might to escape the templars' clutches, but nothing she did could match their power.

[ ](http://imgur.com/SkbNA80)

Her first year at the Circle had been miserable, but the letters from her parents comforted her and gave her solace. She would curl up beside the fire at night, wearing her purple robe, and read their words over and over again. She wanted desperately to return home to them--to the forest--but knew that it would be impossible. 

Eventually, her resentment turned to contentment when Jowan arrived. She smiled to herself, remembering their first encounter. There was no one in the world she considered a better friend than Jowan. He had made life at the Circle not only bearable, but fun. She soon found that she actually enjoyed learning all there was to know about magic--especially the healing arts--and excelled in her studies, rising all the way to the rank of senior enchanter within eight years. It was this magical prowess that had attracted Duncan to recruit her in the first place.

A sound, like a branch snapping, suddenly brought her back to the present. It was very dark apart from the moonlight streaking through the trees and nearly impossible to see. Lucky for her that elves not only had pretty good hearing, considering the size of their pointed ears, but they also possessed keen eyesight. 

“Come out, Alistair. I know it’s you,” she said, feigning sternness. 

She heard another branch snap and then the loud crash of armor clanging together. 

“How did you know it was me?” said Alistair, as he collected himself from the place where he had just fallen. He grinned sheepishly. “I-I wasn’t spying! I just… wanted to bathe as well, and well… I didn’t know anyone was here.”

His smile faded as the elf regarded him imperiously, but then she broke into a grin. “It’s alright,” she said. “I’ve just finished. Did you find any provisions?”

“I’ve gathered what little I could. It should be just enough to get us to Lothering and there we can stock up.”

“Good.” She nodded. “I should get the rest of our supplies together and then try to get some rest. You ought to do the same. We’ll need to leave early.” And with that, she was off.

Alistair let out a sigh and began removing pieces of his armor when he was certain the elf had left. He felt particularly awkward in this one’s presence, though he didn’t know why. Perhaps it was her silver eyes and the way they seemed to stare right through him that he found so unsettling. 

He undid the leather straps that held together his pauldrons and slipped them off, one by one. Then off came the gauntlets, wrist guards, chest plate, and finally his very soiled shirt. He made a noise of disgust as he threw it aside, but otherwise remained silent. As quiet as he was on the outside, inside, his mind was reeling. He frowned thinking about Duncan. He’d been like a father, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to cry over his death. It just didn’t feel real. He felt as if he could go back to Ostagar right now and talk to the man, as if nothing had happened. _There will be time to grieve,_ he thought. _But for now, there is much to do._

Lastly, he removed the linen pants he wore underneath his armor and stepped into the cold river. The moonlight rippled on the surface as he cut through the water and for the first time in ages, he felt weightless. Even the heaviness of his heart seemed to ease up, and he began to swim further down the stream. Where he was going, he had no idea. He just felt better knowing that he was moving, going somewhere. 

He paddled on and on for what seemed like ages, when suddenly he heard a loud gasp and a great splash before him. Was it another darkspawn? Or perhaps some vile river creature poised to attack? _Oh, why did I have to be naked?_ He thought. But then recognition set in.

It was Astrid. She had been bathing as well. Her golden ringlets clung to her pale skin, and despite the moonlight above and the chill of the water below, she still somehow radiated like the sun. 

Alistair realized he was gaping. “I… uh… I’m sorry, Lady Astrid. I-I-didn’t think anyone else was here—“ he stammered. Even in the darkness, she could see that his cheeks were aflame. “I was just bathing and then I… decided to go for a bit of a swim, and well I just bumped into you and well, here we are. I’ll just go.” He began swimming upstream with a renewed fervor, leaving her behind. 

Astrid’s face was also reddening, though if Alistair noticed, she couldn’t tell. She watched him splash haphazardly in his hurry to get away before realizing she was staring after her soon-to-be traveling companion that just so happened to be naked. She snapped her eyes away and felt her cheeks burn. With a deep breath, she dove under the water to cool off and to bring her closer to shore. _I should head back to camp,_ she thought, as she reached the embankment and hastily put on a simple white tunic over practical brown trousers that complimented her eyes. She grabbed her things and sped off back towards Ostagar, hoping all the way that she wouldn’t accidentally bump into anyone again. 

Thankfully, she didn’t. In fact, she did not even see the elven woman. Just a few survivors from the day’s battle gathered around a small fire. She stealthily slipped passed them and into one of the tents. As she laid her head down and closed her eyes, she saw a vision. There were two moons. One in the sky, and one splashing before her. Her cheeks burned again as she drifted off to sleep.


	2. Tea Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens prepare to set out. The ladies share some tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We decided to change Calandriel and Astrid's ages from 25 and 23 to 20 and 19 respectively. It just didn't make sense for there to be 23 year old virgins in this story.

Calandriel jolted awake after feeling like she was falling. _Where am I?_ she thought, but slowly, she recalled being at Ostagar and a vague dream about the tower of Ishal. She reached and poked a finger out of the tent flap to try and see what time it was. The sky was brownish gray, the color just before sunrise. So early. Calandriel turned back around and curled up, seeking what warmth and comfort she could. She had grown up sleeping somewhat rough with the Dalish, but the years in her mage’s quarters at the Circle Tower had softened her. She already longed for her plush blankets and chamber hearth. She drifted back into sleep, relishing the fact that she still had a few hours until she needed to rise.

Across the camp, Astrid stared at the top of her tent. On nights she knew she needed to travel the next morning, she was always restless. It was just around dawn, but she felt as though it wouldn’t hurt to get a head start on the day. Astrid wondered if she was restless for more reasons than simply the imminent travel. All night she replayed the image of Alistair’s backside swimming away, while at the same time feeling ashamed and chiding herself for conjuring the image. _We are supposed to be grieving. Get it together, Cousland._ Astrid definitely had an eye for men, just never the ones her mother wished her to look upon. 

At nineteen, she was well past her debut into Fereldan society, yet Astrid had no interest whatsoever in any of the poorly disguised suitors that her mother had brought to dinner. Mother, Astrid thought, remembering afresh that she was now an orphan. Her parents had both been killed, due to the betrayal of Arl Howe. It had only been a week since Duncan had spirited her away from her family home, initiated her into the Grey Wardens, and passed. Alistair and Calandriel, both of whom she had only known for days, were now the only familiar faces around the camp. 

[ ](http://imgur.com/X2AeEDc)

Astrid emerged from her bedroll and rolled it into a tight coil. She drank a few swallows from the skin of water lying limp and nearly empty on the ground. She ran a hand through her long, golden curls, which quickly got stuck on a mat of hair near the nape of her neck. She worked at it with her fingers and smoothed her hair more than she normally did. Thinking about traveling for hours with Calandriel and Alistair made her slightly anxious. Calandriel was the first elf she had really met long enough to talk to, and her beauty was mesmerizing. Her silvery hair and eyes seemed touched with magic. She was very frank and candid, not as she had heard elves described by older lords around the hall on feasts at Highever. Astrid wanted to talk to her, but she was unsure how to even approach such a fair and lovely creature. She knew that her parents would scoff at her regarding an elf so highly, but Astrid was fascinated by the Dalish and admired their bravery for keeping their traditions alive.

And then there was Alistair. He reminded Astrid of Ser Gilmore, her friend from Highever. He just seemed so honorable, like a true knight, only he had supposedly been a templar before joining the Grey Wardens. She wondered if Alistair would show his true colors in the end, as Gilmore had. She had never heard of anyone leaving the templars before and was itching to ask him questions, but it was obvious he was distraught over Duncan’s death. 

Astrid eventually tugged her curls into a loose braid and tied it with a leather thong and got dressed. _This is as good as it’s going to get at Ostagar._

_How the hell do you knock on a tent?_ Astrid thought. She was standing outside of Calandriel’s tent, wondering how to politely awaken her road companion. After packing up her own tent, she saw Alistair talking to some soldiers and bidding them farewell. She felt her stomach lurch at the sight of him, but she also did not want him to think she was avoiding him after last night’s… incident. He had told her to get Calandriel out of bed and they’d leave within the hour and so here she was.

“Ummm… Lady…El---Mage Calandriel? Are you awake?” Astrid asked in as clear and pleasant a voice she could muster. 

“UNNNNNGGGHHHHH” The noise of rustling blankets could be heard inside the tent. 

With only an hour, Astrid did not want to waste more time, or disappoint her senior Grey Warden, Alistair. Astrid opened the tent flap and crawled inside. 

Astrid was somewhat taken aback by the coverlet strewn about the tent and over Calandriel’s head. She somehow had imagined the elf to be so graceful in slumber. She had pictured the Dalish to be early risers, productive in the morning types. Then again, there were advantages to having large eyes and ears to better sense and watch in the night. Astrid remembered her father telling her about Loghain Mac Tir and his band of Night Elves serving the rebellion back in the day. Astrid half remembered seeing Calandriel near the river at the same time she had gone to bathe upstream last night. The elf was hard to miss with her white unearthly glow, even in the dark. Had Alistair run into Calandriel as well? Was he actually some kind of pervert, feigning ignorance that they had been in the river? 

“Ahem,” Astrid coughed aloud, more to clear her thoughts of Alistair, but it had the desired effect on Calandriel.

The heap under the coverlet stirred with a softer, “Hmmmm?”

Astrid squatted down and knelt next to Calandriel.

“Calandriel, we need to leave in less than an hour to make it to Lothering while the outposts are still open.” Astrid said softly. She wanted to make a good impression if this was to be her companion for the interminable future.

Calandriel pulled the coverlet down, a dreamy smile still on her face. Astrid was trying not to smile at how funny the elf’s squinted eyes looked, which were normally so large and luminous. 

“Good morning,” Astrid said, “Can I help you to make ready?” Astrid looked around the tent, it being the first time she had been in a space that was… elvish. It was similar to her accommodations, though. A simple canvas tent with a few leather packs pushed aside in the corner.

“I just need to dress and have a little bite to eat,” Calandriel said, her voice still hoarse from sleep. “Would you hand me that little pot and the water skin?” 

Astrid looked next to the leather satchels to see a small earthenware pot glazed a beautiful blue and painted with intricate white patterns. She gingerly picked it up off the ground as well as a skin of water and brought them to her companion. Calandriel poured water into the pot until it was full and set it on the ground. She held her hands close to, but not touching, each side of the pot and Astrid was amazed to see a small glow emanating from her palms. 

“Just a warming spell,” Calandriel said. The elf was now sitting up on her bedroll, looking more conscious. “I don’t know how you feel about magic, but it’s not going to hurt anyone.”

“Do go on, I will just stand outside. I don’t mean to intrude,” Astrid said apologetically. She suddenly felt strange. Calandriel was an adult, she probably didn’t need someone barging in to wake her up.

“Don’t you want some marshmallow leaf with elfroot? It’s not a soldier’s morning draft, but I find it helps me to awaken.” Calandriel beckoned Astrid back into the tent. Astrid turned back and seated herself before the ceramic pot. Calandriel was up in a gauzy white shift and rummaging in one of her bags. She removed a small cloth drawstring pouch and returned to her bedroll before Astrid. 

“We used to drink this brew in the morning in my family growing up. The elfroot is easy enough to find, and I was happy to find marshmallow down near the stream last night when I was bathing.” Calandriel said as she emptied the contents of the pouch into the hot water in the pot. Astrid had grown up having cider in the morning and wine or ale at all of her other formal family meals. She hated the circumstances of war, but she was rather enjoying camp life so far.

“So you were in the river as well?” Astrid asked as Calandriel produced two small matching cups from her pack and handed one to Astrid. 

“Yes. I’m afraid life at the Circle tower has gotten me accustomed to living soft and clean,” Calandriel said as she poured them each some of the brew from the pot.

Astrid inhaled the piping hot tisane, taking in the vegetal smell with a hint of sweetness, not unlike basil. She took a sip and it was light, hot, and delicious. Much better than starting the day with heavy drink as most of their male counterparts did.

“Did you happen to see,” Astrid started, but then thought better of it. She did not want Calandriel to get the wrong impression of her, that she was prancing about naked in the river with a man. “Never mind.”

“Alistair?” Calandriel asked, not missing a beat. “Yes. I think I scared the poor thing to death. I was finishing up and already nearly dressed when he came down. Why?”

“Just wondering. I just wish to know about my new companions is all,” Astrid said, overly casual. 

“I don’t think you need to worry about him. They raise templars to be pretty chivalrous in the Chantry. Always knowing the right thing to do and how to treat ladies and how to keep an eye on mages,” Calandriel trailed off. “Not that anyone would dream of harming the Lady Cousland,” Calandriel looked up at her, smiling with her silver, cat-eyes.

Astrid shook her head and set down her cup, “No need for that. I’m just Astrid. I honestly do not know what will become of my family now that my parents are gone. I wish to find my brother, but my duty is with the Grey Wardens now. I suppose I shall have to wait to find out.”

“I often wonder about my family as well. We must hope to meet again, and cherish our memories until that day comes.”

Astrid felt much more at ease with this elf than she ever had with her mother or any of the noble ladies she encouraged her to befriend at Highever. Astrid opened her mouth to make a remark when they heard heavy footsteps approaching with the clink of metal boots.

“Lady Cousland? Enchanter Calandriel? Are you two in here??” Alistair’s voice held just a trace of politeness. The young women had lost track of time.

“Yes!” Astrid said, hastily rising and opening the flap. Alistair stooped in front of the tent entrance.

“What are you two doing? I sent you to wake her up, not have a tea salon!” Alistair rolled his eyes at Astrid and then looked in further to see Calandriel, still in her shift.

“Oh!” his face reddened at the sight of her in her nightclothes, though it covered her breasts, it was still quite sheer. He abruptly turned around. 

“We need to leave. I didn’t think I’d be the only one eager to leave this place, but I guess not.” Alistair said, exasperated.

Astrid’s face flushed with shame. She had lost track of time. She did not want Alistair to think of her as a frivolous noble girl, gossiping away while there was work to be done. She quickly rolled up Calandriel’s bedroll and coverlet and tied it tightly. Calandriel was slipping on her purple robe and combing her long, silver hair. It hardly looked like it could get tangled. It was so shimmery and sleek. Astrid felt so plain and frizzy next to her. Astrid had a more buxom figure that only seemed to get in the way. She felt her full breasts to be an encumbrance for armor and leathers. She looked over at Calandriel’s slim figure, admiring her tall form. Astrid picked up the bedroll and a closed satchel and stepped out.

“See you outside,” Astrid said brusquely. Alistair had asked her to do something, and she was keeping him waiting. She wondered what he thought of them.

A few paces away, Alistair was checking his pack and person to make sure he had everything for the tenth time. _Sword, shield, poultice, wedge of cheese, change of shirt, everything’s there._ Thinking of minute things like items for travel helped keep his mind off of Duncan. And his current prospects. "How is this templar going to travel with two beautiful women?" Alistair grunted aloud, as if to clear his thoughts.


	3. The Long Road to Lothering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calandriel and Astrid recount tales of lovers past while on the road to Lothering.

The sky was beginning to turn a brilliant pink that faded into peach just before the horizon. The sun was slowly making its ascent from beyond the hills that seemed to stretch endlessly around Ostagar. 

The three companions shouldered their packs and checked one last time to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything before setting out on the long journey to Lothering. 

“So… I’m not too familiar with this place we’re going to. Loathing, is it?” said Calandriel after some time. “It doesn’t sound very pleasant.”

“ _Lothering,_ ” Alistair corrected. “It’s not what you’d call a _big_ city, but it’s pretty important along the trade route.”

“Have you been there before?” asked Calandriel. 

“Yes, once or twice. Before joining the Wardens. When I was training for the Templar Order, we visited.”

“Oh? And what was the nature of these visits?”

Alistair couldn’t fathom why this elf was being so nosy, but there was nothing else to do but make idle chatter as they trudged along the dirt path that led them north. “There were… mages… that needed to be brought to the Circle.” He hesitated as he spoke, unsure of the reaction he might receive. 

The elf was quiet as she contemplated her reply. A faint wind swept by and fluttered her long silvery hair. It gave Alistair that uneasy feeling once again. “And did you take part in seizing them?”

“Well, no. That was a job for the more senior templars. I was only twelve when I went there the first time. I was just barely learning how to hold a sword, and struggling to memorize the Chant of Light. It would be _years_ before they taught me to ‘seize’ mages. And besides, ‘seizing’ isn’t really the right word. I mean, some templars can be rough, but really, they’re not _all_ bad.”

The elvish woman remained silent for some time as they walked along, leading herself with her tall, white wooden staff. It had been cut from a branch that split off into elegant, twisting twigs at the top, and gave off a faint glow. “I actually had a templar friend once,” she said in her silvery voice. “His name is Cullen. He’s a good man.”

“Do the mages and templars intermingle at your Circle?” said Astrid abruptly. She had been very quiet this whole time, content to just listen as she followed pace behind her companions. As a rogue, it was in her nature to hang back and remain unnoticed. “I’ve never been to a Circle tower. What was it like?”

“To answer your first question… No,” said the elf. “Mages and templars are not even permitted to speak with each other, unless it concerns some order of business.” She paused, gazing off into the hills that lay before them, and then with a slight smile, continued. “But there were ways of getting around all that. There were hundreds and hundreds of rules. And thousands of ways to break them.” 

“So how did you wind up befriending a templar then?” asked Astrid curiously. Unlike the other two, she had never even set foot in a Circle tower, and her exposure to both mages and templars was at a minimum.

Calandriel’s smile widened and she looked mischievous. “Well… I broke one of the rules. Actually, several if you really put it all together… A new templar had just been brought in to guard our wing of the tower. It was his first day. My friend Jowan and I tricked him into believing there was a spirit possessing one of the mages in the men’s quarters. Really, it was this fellow that always tossed and turned and talked in his sleep. The templar went right for it and we snuck out. There was a big game of Wicked Grace going on in the dungeons, you see.”

“You made a templar believe someone was becoming an abomination so you could play _cards?_ ” Alistair said, shocked. “I’m surprised they didn’t kill you for that!”

“Oh, it was alright. Our tower was a lot more lenient than most.”

“What happened then?” Astrid asked, intrigued. 

“Well, we finished the game, for one thing. I must say I did pretty well, considering I still had all of my clothes on by the end of it,” she chuckled. “Jowan and I crept back up from the dungeons, taking care to keep to the shadows and follow the secret routes. But what we thought was stealth was actually the two of us blundering around in the night like a pair of buffoons. You see, we’d had a lot of wine… The Knight-Commander found us easily and brought us to his chambers to decide our punishment. The templar we’d duped was already there, hanging his head in shame behind the Knight-Commander. I can still see his silhouette in front of the crackling hearth.”

“For some reason, I have a hard time imagining you being so rebellious,” said Astrid with a baffled grin. “You’re so… stately.”

“Well, I was 17. And thank you,” said the elf, turning her head back to smile warmly at the woman. 

“So what was the punishment?” asked Alistair, fidgeting with a small leather pouch around his belt. 

“Oh, nothing too terrible. The Knight-Commander liked to think he was still intimidating, but he was getting on in years and everyone knew he’d grown soft. He banned us from trips to the city for the next three months and commanded that we read everything Brother Genitivi had ever written on the subject of abominations and to report on our findings. He also made the templar escort us back to our rooms. I had to wait in the Knight-Commander’s office while the templar brought Jowan back, as we were not permitted to communicate or be within each other’s presence until the three months was up. It felt like an eternity watching the Knight-Commander pace back and forth in front of the fire, his arms folded behind his back. Finally, the templar returned to take me back to the my quarters. Emboldened by the drink, I asked him what his name was. He refused me, trying so hard to play the stoic knight, not even looking me in the eyes. I pestered him the whole way to my chambers until we finally reached the double oak doors. I quickly turned around and blocked the handle before he could toss me inside and looked him straight in the eyes. I felt guilty, having potentially ruined this man’s reputation before the sun could rise on his second day. I told him I was sorry and I still remember the way his face faltered as he finally looked at me. His eyes were amber like the enchanted glow lamps that hung around us. ‘My name is Cullen,’ he said. ‘Goodnight, lady enchanter.’ And with that, he grabbed the door handle and pushed me into the room, locking the doors behind me.” Calandriel let out a sigh. 

“You could almost be a bard, you know. Telling tales like that!” said Astrid. “We’ve already put a few miles behind us.” She quickened her pace slightly to walk between the other two now. “So you became friends after that then?”

“Indeed. It turned out our templar had a taste for adventure and a flair for the dramatic. Most templars are content to don their matching armor and blend into the walls, but not Cullen. I think he secretly liked the excitement of his first day. He later told me how he’d begged his parents to let him join the Templar Order because he loved all the songs of heroism and chivalry. But the banal reality of being a templar in a mage tower is that it’s an awful lot of standing around, being bored out of your mind, just waiting for something to happen. Two weeks after our first encounter, I found two notes stashed under my pillow. One was from Jowan, because no punishment could really keep us from communicating entirely! The other was written in a hand I didn’t recognize, inviting me to a secret meeting in the dungeons. Such invitations were not uncommon, as this was where us mages held all of our underground encounters. It was also common for notes not to be signed, in case they fell into the wrong hands. Naturally, I was intrigued and couldn’t resist, so that night I snuck out with a spell and met with the author of the note.”

“It was Cullen, wasn’t it?” exclaimed Astrid eagerly. She loved stories, especially the kind with romantic intrigue. In fact, she hoped to train herself as a bard one day and sing tales of valor and love in between spying. 

“It was indeed,” continued the mage. “He’d brought me the note from Jowan in exchange for learning the whereabouts of our secret hideout. Jowan was always easy to coerce… At first, I thought it was a trap, but then I saw that he wasn’t dressed as a templar at all. I’d seen a few of the knights in their everyday wear on their days off, but they were usually going into town or sneaking off to the brothel.” 

The road they were on began to split in two directions around a particularly gargantuan grassy hill. The two women paused and looked at Alistair inquisitively. 

“It’s this way,” said Alistair, pointing to the right. “I think…” he added under his breath as they continued. The sky was now a brilliant blue streaked with white clouds, the air cool and breezy. “Anyway, go on.”

“He was wearing these ridiculous red and black feathered pauldrons over a red cloak. His golden hair was much longer then, almost down to his shoulders. He looked less stern than he had in all that armor, especially with the few shafts of moonlight that were cast across his face...” Calandriel cleared her throat.

[ ](http://imgur.com/BRNonHm)

“That sounds so lovely! I bet he was handsome!” Astrid was beaming with excitement at her tale.

“Oh yes!” Alistair’s voice rose to a falsetto “So dashing and lovely in his feathers and a blush in his cheek!” he clasped his hands and held them up to his heart.

Astrid scowled at Alistar, “Shush! I’m sure this Cullen fellow was a wonderful templar.”

“Well it doesn’t sound like it if he let some indiscreet mage students fool him on his first day, AND went to meet privately with a mage. I _know_ that is against protocol,” Alistair sounded stern, but he gave Calandriel a shy smile. “Let’s hear how you got on with this lucky fellow, then,” he conceded.

Calandriel, feeling as though her audience was still attentive, continued her tale. 

“Well, I asked him just that. Why a templar who had already gotten in trouble because of my friend and I wished to risk himself further by meeting with me. He said he simply wished to talk with me. I can’t imagine why he had gotten all dressed up and gone through all that trouble, really,” Calandriel shrugged.

“Can’t you?” Astrid’s brown eyes widened. “You certainly caught my eye. I’ve never seen anyone as striking as you, not during all my years of court and my parents’ parties. Alistair, wouldn’t you agree? Is Calandriel not a most beautiful specimen?” Astrid called to Alistair, who was a stride ahead of she and Calandriel. He turned around, his hair starting to stick to his forehead with exertion.

“What?” he said, stopping.

Astrid rolled her eyes, “I _said_ isn’t Calandriel beautiful? I want a male perspective. She doubts why this Cullen would be interested in her.”

Alistair swallowed and paused in earnest and looked intentionally at Calandriel. 

The sun gleamed down on her silver hair and had brought a slight bloom to her fair cheeks. Calandriel looked behind them, clearly embarrassed.

After a moment Alistair quietly said “Yes. She is most lovely,” and continued to look at her until he sensed he was staring. He shook his head and started off again, purposefully taking large strides and getting ahead of the two ladies.

Astrid tried to remember if Ser Gilmore, or Gil as she called him, had ever called her lovely. Gil had started squiring for her brother Fergus around the age of 12, and he and Astrid were of the same age. Astrid had chased about the training yard with Fergus and Gil. Her father had never minded if she learned how to defend herself, though. Astrid had always harbored a secret fantasy about Gil one day confessing his undying love for her, but it had never happened. Only that night in the stable hayloft. 

Astrid shook her head of the memory, not wanting to go there at the moment. She reached over and touched Calandriel’s shoulder.

“You can keep telling me, if you wish. Did more happen between you and this Cullen?”

Calandriel looked up and smiled wistfully. She raised her eyebrows tellingly. 

“Well, yes. That night he asked if I would walk with him and so we left the tower and walked along the edge of the lake. He was very curious about my studies and my Dalish family growing up. I just remember it feeling so strange. I had been at the tower for nearly five years and had thought of templars as nothing so much as fixtures on walls. My fellow mages were all the fun, like Jowan,” Calandriel smiled over at Astrid.

“He was not supposed to be with you, either, especially not outside of the tower, correct?” Astrid asked.

“Yes. I suppose I was…forbidden fruit for him. And an elf, which has its pluses and minuses in Ferelden,” Calandriel laughed self-deprecatingly. But her smile faded as she continued.

“I guess that knowledge of restriction is what gave our… relationship such a sense of urgency. Anyway, that night we talked and he was sweet and attentive and in the late hours, we made our way back to the tower and he said he wished to remain outside while I went up to my quarters to avoid suspicion. And then,” Calandriel looked over to Astrid, smiling sheepishly.

“Yessss?” Astrid replied, nodding in encouragement.

“And then I kissed him. Looking back on it now, it was rather unladylike, but we elves could be rather open in our affection growing up. And I guess after talking to him for so long, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time, like someone was interested in my history and not just making mischief or playing cards. As if he liked me, and wasn’t expecting anything more than conversation. So anyway, I did it, and I guess that set things off for the next few months.” Calandriel sighed dramatically. What a time it had been.

On the road, she recounted the entire affair to Astrid. She remembered the manic feelings of highs and lows over she and Cullen’s secret affair. They would walk around the lake. Sometimes he would get them a bottle of wine from The Spoiled Princess while she waited in the brush nearby so she would not be seen with him. He must have been a few years older than her. 

They would find places in the woods for kissing, grasping, and saying the most ridiculous things to each other. Calandriel enjoyed Cullen’s attention and would pine for him for the seemingly endless days between their meetings. If she happened to see him on duty at the tower, she did not dare as much as smile at him, lest someone be looking.

After a few months of clandestine meetings and fumblings beneath bodices and breeches, the two could no longer wait. Calandriel stepped into her quarters to find an envelope on her bed, which wasn’t unusual. She opened it, only to have some lilacs spill out of the envelope onto the floor. She inhaled and felt heady from their sweet scent. She removed the card from the envelope and recognized Cullen’s hand.

_Let us have no boundaries tonight. The Spoiled Princess Room 3._

And so it had been that Calandriel had lost her innocence with Cullen at the inn. They had moved unnaturally slow in their endeavor, knowing they had the whole night and not just a few stolen hours as usual. Cullen had been silent as he undressed her, his lips warm on her bare flesh. They could hear a company of Fereldan soldiers drunkenly singing in the tap room below, but their own space was sacred. She enjoyed his nakedness, his humanness so strange to her. She had felt divine when he stood behind her and kissed her pointed ears, not calling her a “knife-ear” as so many Fereldans might. She turned around to him and teasingly asked, “What of your vow of chastity?” 

Cullen had looked into her eyes and said, “I don’t see how the Maker would frown upon us, for your body is a temple. Let us worship.”

And with that, Cullen had laid her down in the inn room bed, and slowly and deliberately brought her pleasure while she ensured his own. It had been lovely. To this day, whenever Calandriel heard soldiers sing “Fereldans Fierce and Free,” she couldn’t help but think of that night with Cullen. 

Astrid laughed, “How… patriotic! A true Fereldan. That does sound lovely, though.”

Calandriel nodded, “It was, but unfortunately, that night was near the end of our time together. Some other templars had apparently been sniffing him out. He would be outed from the order if the Knight-Commander found out we had so much as been socializing together, let alone having an affair. Such things are unheard of. Anyway, eventually he stopped seeing me. I understood why, but my teenage heart had still been broken.”

Astrid made a moue of sympathy. She could relate, remembering her own feelings towards Ser Gilmore and the disappointment. 

“I guess we both knew it would eventually happen. Neither of us ever said we loved each other or nonsense like that. I think I did love him, in a way, though, as all girls love the first person they are with.” Calandriel smiled. 

Astrid nodded silently.

“Have I told you too much? I’m sorry, I’ve just never been able to tell anyone about this,” Calandriel asked Astrid. 

“Oh no, not at all! I am glad to listen to your tale. I fear I do not have such exciting experiences to recall,” Astrid said with a nervous laugh. 

They walked in companionable silence for a time, the late afternoon sun hot on their backs. Alistair was still ahead of them, a good distance away but still close enough to be within sight. Astrid could understand. Traveling with others left little solitude. One had to take it where one could. The thought of solitude, Ser Gilmore, and Calandriel’s tale of Cullen piqued Astrid’s curiosity.

“Calandriel,” Astrid asked hesitating, “Did you say that Cullen had taken a vow of chastity? That he was not supposed to… have relations?” Astrid looked down at her boots as the two kept walking, shy but not shy enough not to have asked. 

“Yes,” Calandriel promptly replied. “Templars make a vow to forego the pleasures of the flesh, so to speak, in order to have pure hearts and minds to serve the Maker by keeping mages in line. They tell boys training to be templars that they will be struck with lightning if they break their vows. It’s very staunch and strict in the Chantry,” Calandriel laughed. She looked and could see Astrid peering in the distance ahead of them at Alistair, squinting her brown eyes.

“So do you think Alistair is still… virtuous?” Astrid asked, overly casual. 

Calandriel shrugged. “I’m not sure about that, since he left before he ever made his vows. Knowing most young men, I imagine he probably did it as soon as he got the chance after leaving the Chantry, but I don’t know. Do you want me to ask him?” Calandriel teased.

“NO!” Astrid seized Calandriel’s arm. “Please don’t. I am just curious. For… intellectual reasons, that’s all!” 

Calandriel put her hand on top of where Astrid’s rested on her arm, “Don’t worry. I was just joking around. I wouldn’t tell him anything. Promise.”

“Alright,” Astrid said, smiling. There was something trustworthy in Calandriel’s eyes, strange as they were. She just did not seem like a liar, plus they were all Grey Wardens together now. 

“So,” Calandriel said, searching for a new subject. “Are _you_ still a virtuous woman, Lady Cousland?” Calandriel bit an apple she had pulled out of her pack. It was sweet and tart, and still crisp even though she had picked it a few days before.

“What? I, what do you mean?” Astrid was fumbling for words.

“Oh come on! We’re going to be together a long time. We might as well get it all out there. Any first loves at Highever?” Calandriel asked.

“Well, there was one, but it didn’t amount to much, in the end.” Astrid confessed.

“Do go on,” Calandriel encouraged, waggling her white eyebrows up and down.

Astrid told Calandriel about Ser Gilmore, the red headed blue eyed boy of her youth. She told her all about the times they had played together as 12 year olds, rode together on their horses in the woods of Highever, and made mischief in the kitchen, bothering old Nan to no end. In fact, that’s how the whole incident in the hay loft had begun.

“I dare you to steal a jug of ale from the larder!” Gil had said to Astrid one night when they were walking about Highever after dinner. Her mother and father were entertaining guests and Astrid had excused herself, even if her mother had wanted her to stay. Astrid had little taste for small talk and trying to impress old nobles who wanted her to marry their sons.

“That’s hardly a dare,” Astrid replied, nudging Gil in the ribs. She looked up into his squinted blue eyes and said, “I’ll steal two, just you watch.” Astrid was always trying to be brave, nonchalant, and daring for Gil. She thought if she acted like a man, he would be impressed with her. 

And so Astrid tiptoed into the kitchen past Nan, who was sleeping in her chair next to the hearth, and crept into the cask room and picked up two large earthenware jugs of the past year’s brew. She shoved them into Gil’s chest when she emerged. His jaw had dropped. 

“How did you get past Nan? She never sleeps, I swear!” Gilmore said as they walked down the cobblestone path in the dark. 

“Oh, I have my ways,” Astrid said to her friend and longtime crush. 

Gil tossed his shining red locks and smiled down at Astrid, “Well, then let’s celebrate. To Astrid’s cunning and craft!”

They both uncorked the large bottles and held them up to their mouths. Astrid had been 18 at this time. She knew that her parents would try to marry her off soon, and so did Gil. He might have duties elsewhere when he became a knight as well. Gil had also mentioned wanting to join the Grey Wardens.

Eventually, she and Gil made their way to the stables. They had both nearly finished the giant jugs of ale, and it was surprising that neither of them fell over walking down all the way from the kitchen at Highever. 

It had happened for Astrid in the hayloft. She and Gil were both drunk as could be, despite claims from both for being able to hold their liquor. They were sitting above the horses, dangling their legs over the edge when all of a sudden, Gil leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss on Astrid’s lips. 

“Gil?!” Astrid pulled back, shocked, but delighted.

“Astrid, we should be together. Ya know?” Gil slurred. “I’ll be off serving soon, and let’s face it, you’re going to probably have to marry some old man in Redcliffe or somewhere. When will we have another chance?”

Astrid relished the kisses from Gilmore she had always dreamed of, tasting of ale and smelling of the hay around them. He groped and fumbled at her clothes. At last, with a pinch of flesh, Gil had been Astrid’s first lover. She grimaced in pain, but she wanted it to be right. She loved Gil, they had always been there for each other. As he moved about above her, Astrid tried to enjoy herself, but she couldn’t stop thinking of things her mother had told her in her parlor a few years back. When Gil started to screw up his face and move faster, suddenly Astrid cried out, “Stop!” and pushed him off. She gathered her skirt back down around her and rolled aside. 

“Whassa matter with you, Astrid?” Gil cried, outraged. 

“We are being foolish, Gil. What if you got me… with child?” Astrid said.

Gil scoffed. “I knew what I was doing, Astrid. I’m not a little boy anymore, but apparently you want to stay a little girl. I should have known you weren’t ready,” Gil shook his head as he pulled up his breeches.

“I was, I am, it’s just…” Astrid trailed off. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. Gilmore was already clumsily stepping down the ladder of the hayloft. “Where are you going?” Astrid called after him. 

“I’m off to Proper Alice’s Inn, I’m sure one of her ladies knows what she’s doing,” Gil spat. 

Astrid looked up at the sky and then back down to Calandriel. “So long story short, technically I am not a virtuous woman. But there you have it,” Astrid too felt better for telling her about the night that still hurt deep in her heart, five years after the fact. She had been so fond of Gilmore, but looking back on it now, he really had still been just a boy.

“Well, I might say the Maker curse all men or something, but something tells me you’ve not given up on love once and for all,” Calandriel said with a chuckle.

Astrid laughed too, “No, I can’t say that I have. It’s getting late. We should maybe catch up with Alistair and see how close we are to Lothering or if we should make camp for the night before it gets too dark.”

Calandriel nodded and quickening her pace, strode towards Alistair, who was still several paces ahead of them. “I can’t believe it’s already evening,” she said to him as she approached.

“Hm? Oh. Yes!” Alistair seemed a bit dazed, as if he’d just awoken from a dream. “It shouldn’t be much further. I reckon we’ll make it to the city by nightfall. It’s a good thing, too. Is it just me or has it gotten a bit chilly?”

“Oh, I’d say I’m actually feeling quite warm, wouldn’t you, Astrid?” said the elf, laughing. The last several hours of recounting saucy tales had kept her temperature up. 

Astrid agreed and chuckled, but her smile quickly faded as Alistair gave them both a perplexed look. He clearly had not overheard the last of their conversation. Astrid secretly thanked the Maker.


	4. A Place to Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calandriel experiences anti-elven attitudes, something she is not used to. The Wardens must find a way to get into the city, which is not what they expected.

Over the next few hours, the companions each began to get lost in their own thoughts. The exhaustion of the long trek was setting in and conversation dissolved. The sun gave them one last scintillating display of goldenrod and tangerine skies before it slipped behind the hills and ultimately disappeared. 

“I can see torches ahead!” exclaimed Astrid. 

“Lothering,” said Alistair. “Just a bit further. There’s an inn called Dane’s Refuge we can stay at tonight.”

“Ahh, you mean we get to sleep in real beds?” said Calandriel, wistfully. “I can’t wait!”

They quickened their steps and soon approached the city gates. Immediately, the travelers were halted by a pair of guards in simple bronze armor that stood watch on either side of the great wooden doors. “Who goes there?” called one of them, a woman. “State your business.”

Alistair stepped forward before either of his companions could say a word and proclaimed that they were seeking a place to stay for the night and to purchase supplies.

“You’re not refugees are ya? Coz we can’t take no more o’ them! The city’s practically burstin’ at the seams with folk who can’t even afford a crust o’ bread. People are killin’ each other in the streets just to survive.”

“Do we look like refugees?” Calandriel said haughtily. 

The guardwoman’s eyes turned on the elf and narrowed dangerously. “You best be tellin’ your knife-ear servant here to keep her mouth shut, ser knight!”

Alistair opened his mouth to retort as Calandriel produced the white staff from her back, but they were too slow. Astrid had already seized the opportunity to sneak up behind the woman and put a dagger to her throat. The second guard raised his sword, poised for a fight. 

“Enough!” said Alistair, suddenly commanding. “We did not come here as refugees, nor did we come here to stir up trouble. We’re Grey Wardens. All we want is to replenish supplies, rest our feet, and then be on our way.” He looked meaningfully at Astrid, who reluctantly withdrew her weapon from the woman’s throat. 

The guard stumbled and backed away from the three of them. “Grey Wardens!” she choked. 

The other guard—a young man—stepped forward, re-sheathing his sword as he did so. “Then you can help us?”

“I don’t know about the two of you, but I’m not helping any racist shemlens do a damn thing!” said Calandriel angrily, spiking the base of her staff into the ground. A shock of electricity emanated from the branches at the top and crackled as it disappeared.

Alistair raised a palm towards her, commanding her to halt. But before he could speak again, Astrid raised her voice. “Let us into the city and we’ll see what we can do,” she said.

Alistair gave her a withering look, and Calandriel looked as if she’d just been slapped, but Astrid did not say another word. Not only was she getting them into the city, but why not offer help? Wasn’t that their duty? 

The lad’s face lit up with sudden hope as he dashed past the female guard and sent up a signal to have the doors opened. The woman stood glaring, but her pride was too wounded for her to manage any more words. She glared at Calandriel as the three of them passed the threshold and entered the city. With a loud clang, the doors were shut behind them.

The city was sprawled out before them, a network of dirt roads connecting the many modest brick buildings that normally housed its trade businesses and inhabitants, but now everything looked disheveled. There were people sleeping beneath the awnings of a merchant’s house and far off in the distance, they could see a crowd gathered outside of the Chantry.

Alistair eyed the refugees warily. Most looked like poor farmers and families just trying to escape the Blight, but there could easily be thieves and other devious characters hidden amongst the fray. “Stay close,” Alistair said in a low voice. “Desperation breeds criminals. Not to mention with all these people, it would be easy for someone nefarious to blend in. The inn should be just a few blocks this way,” he added, pointing northeast. 

They turned the corner, making sure to avoid the alleyway nearby that was just asking for trouble.

“I do hope they have rooms available,” said Astrid. “But I’d feel so guilty sleeping in a bed while all these people are suffering outside.”

“It’s no different from an alienage,” Calandriel muttered. “Perhaps it’s time some of these shemlens experience what it’s like to have to sleep in the mud.” She was still angry over the guardwoman’s racist remarks. 

Alistair grunted uncomfortably. “Oh, look. There’s the inn! Um… lady enchanter…” He said slowly, turning to Calandriel. “It may be wise… to… perhaps put on your cloak and draw the hood up before we enter. To prevent… any more encounters like the one we just had. If her tone speaks anything about the rest of these people’s attitudes…” 

Calandriel gave him an icy look but did as he suggested. She pulled the purple velvet cloak from her pack and covered herself with it, making sure to hide her pointed ears. The hood was so large, it left her face almost entirely in shadow, save for her mouth and her cascade of long, silvery hair. Next, she gripped her staff and with a flourish, it shrunk down into a wand that she could stash inside her robes. 

Dane’s Refuge loomed before them, a handsome edifice with a carved sign swinging above the entryway. It did not appear as run down as many of the other buildings in the area; most likely the innkeeper was getting a lot of business from the influx of people seeking a reprieve from the Blight. They entered to find themselves in a large room filled with patrons. To their right was a long bar with wooden benches occupied by at least a dozen men and women and across the room a fire was crackling merrily in the great stone hearth. A trio of musicians provided a jaunty tune in one corner and above them was a balcony with several more tables that looked down on the main chamber. 

Alistair approached the bar, attempting to look casual but failing miserably at it. His armor marked him as someone with at least a bit of wealth, some noble’s son perhaps or a nameless knight. Thankfully, most people were so far gone in their cups that they hardly batted an eye at the strange companions. The barman, however, quick to note the expensive armor—and thus an opportunity to make more money—came quickly to his assistance. 

“What can I do for ya ser?” the innkeeper asked through his bushy brown mustache. He continued polishing the mug that was in his hand while eyeing the knight warily. 

“I know it’s a long shot, but have you any rooms available?” Alistair asked, raising his voice above the din. 

“Might be I’ve got one left, as a matter of fact,” the man replied slowly. “I’d be happy to rent it to ya… _if_ you’ve got the coin,” he added, watching Alistair carefully. 

“I have,” Alistair replied, not blinking. 

The two stared at each other a moment, the barman obviously gauging just how much profit he could turn in this situation. Alistair handed him a few coins, still maintaining eye contact. Finally, the man nodded. “Aye,” he said, taking the coins and pocketing them. “Yer room’s up the stairs, first door on the left. Now, is there anything else I can get for ya?” 

“Wine,” said Calandriel suddenly, wedging herself in between Alistair and a drunken man seated nearby. “ _Aggregio pavali._ Anything for you, Astrid?” she added, turning back to the rogue. 

“Yes, wine for me as well. Why not?”

“And dinner,” added Alistair. “Do you have any cheese?”

The barman eyed him curiously and then said, “Aye” once again. “I’ll have my girl bring it out to ya.” 

As crowded as the hall was, they were in luck. A pair of tipsy men had just abandoned their table on the balcony and slouched off to their rooms, leaving it vacant. They seated themselves on the wooden benches and felt the warmth of the fire rising up from below. Even without drink, the comforting atmosphere was intoxicating. 

“We really should be laying low, you know. Why did you have to get drinks?” Alistair asked in a hushed tone as they sat down. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” said Calandriel from the shadow of her hood. Just then, an elven serving girl came to their table carrying a green glass bottle and three wooden chalices, which she set before them before bowing and skittering off. Calandriel let out an audible sigh as she reached for the bottle and poured a cup. “Astrid?” When the other woman nodded, she filled her cup as well and then set the bottle down again. 

Alistair regarded her nervously and then poured his own glass. 

Astrid took a sip of the drink and instantly felt some of her tension release. It was smooth for a red wine with a hint of blackberry sweetness and faint notes of cloves. She peered over her cup and noticed that the elven woman was already taking a second hearty draught. 

“So… what’s next?” asked the rogue as the serving girl returned with three bowls of steaming hot creamy soup and placed one before her. The smell of cooked carrots and mushrooms drifted up to her nostrils and made her mouth water. In the center of the table a plate of assorted cheeses and slices of bread was set. For a moment, Astrid forgot what she was talking about and eyed the plate longingly. She looked across the table at Alistair who was also hungrily gazing at the many wedges of cheddar and bleu cheese, and Calandriel who had just taken another big drink at the sight of the serving girl. 

“Well, first I propose we eat!” said Alistair, grinning. He offered the cheese plate first to Astrid and then took a slice for himself. 

“Then sleep…” Calandriel said, a faint smile visible from below the shadow of her hood. As irritated as she was, it was clear the drink was already turning her spirits around.

“And then tomorrow we find a merchant and stock up.” Astrid took a bite of the cheddar and savored its salty sharp taste. “And what about the guard boy at the gate? I mean, as Grey Wardens our goal is ultimately to stop the Blight. But is there anything we can do for Lothering right now?”


	5. Drink & Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calandriel can't resist a mysterious stranger.

After they had demolished the cheese plate and finished two bottles of wine between them (a small scolding hadn't stopped Alistair from enjoying another glass or two), Astrid was starting to drift off. Her stomach was blissfully full, and simply sitting in a warm, supposedly safe place was a true comfort. She gazed across the table at Alistair, who had his hands folded, and was staring at a small flickering oil lamp in the center of their table. The flame danced in his thickly-lashed eyes. Next to her, Calandriel had her head turned to a corner table on the other side of the balcony at Dane's Refuge. Astrid followed her gaze and saw a muscular, tanned man in spare leathers, despite how cold it was outside. He crouched over a glass of red wine and seemed to be returning Calandriel's gaze.

[](http://imgur.com/sz83jKK)

Upon second glance at the man's long blonde hair and face markings, Astrid gathered that he was actually an elf. Not a desirable trait in Lothering, but he clearly looked like he could defend himself, as Astrid noted a dagger on his belt, two small knives in either of his boots, and not to mention the crossbow he had slung over his back. She wondered why Calandriel might be gazing over at such a dangerous looking person, but not enough to ask. Calandriel had been on edge this night, though the wine had relaxed her. Astrid, having grown up noble well after the rebellion, had known very little of hardship. Sometimes her father, Teyrn Bryce Cousland, would relate tales of the rebellion against Orlais to her, and the circumstances always sounded so dire. She couldn't imagine being an elf, only able to make a living as a servant or worse in most places in Ferelden. Yes, Astrid thought, I'll leave Calandriel be. I'm sure I have nothing I could say to her. At this realization, Astrid picked up her leather pack and announced to her companions,

"I'm going to bed. Will you two be up in a little while?"

Alistair replied after a moment, "Yes, I'll be up there shortly."

Calandriel simply waved absently, not breaking her gaze with the elf across the room. Astrid didn't know if she was too far gone with drink, or if perhaps elves did well with nonverbal communication and that's what was going on. Either way, Astrid smiled down at Alistair and made her way around the wrapped balcony to the room the barman had indicated.

A few moments after Astrid's departure, Alistair turned to Calandriel.

"Are you coming up?" he asked.

"Hm? No, I'd like to stay a while and just...be alone." Calandriel said softly.

Alistair pursed his lips anxiously, but he knew he had already caused her distress today by asking her to disguise herself.

"Do be careful. We have much to do tomorrow and I wouldn't want anything to happen to you." Alistair said with genuine concern.

Calandriel was unmoved. "Yes, yes. I'll be fine. I won't be too long," she said, finally looking up at him to reassure him she was telling the truth.

"Alright, then," Alistair said and putting his hand on his sword, he walked towards their rented room.

Astrid was down to a basic black tunic and nothing else, her leather armor and pack already folded and placed on a chair on the other side of the room. She stood, arms akimbo, trying to assess the bed situation. There was one decently sized bed, maybe enough for two small people or an adult and child, and what looked to be a trundle beneath the bed. She crouched down and pulled on the rope handles of the bed and tugged. She nearly tumbled backwards. Clearly the bed had not been pulled out in a long time. She took each handle again and gathered her strength, this time lifting up slightly as she pulled out. The bed seemed to catch slightly on the track, but then pulled out with a great wooden creak, so quickly that this time, Astrid did tumble backwards onto her derriere.

Suddenly, the door opened and Alistair rushed into the room.

"Astrid, are you alright? I just heard a noise, have you fallen?" he looked so earnest in his concern, it made Astrid's stomach tickle despite the sharp impact she had just felt on her bottom and lower back.

"I'm fine, really. This thing was just a bear to yank out." Astrid tugged on her tunic, which now seemed far too scant, as it fell to her mid thigh.

"Help you up?" Alistair asked, extending a hand down toward her.

Astrid hesitated a moment, but then seized it, as he pulled her up. She was slightly buzzed from the wine, and the trip up left her a little wobbly. She inadvertently reached her other hand to Alistair's elbow for balance. She rested it there and then looked up at him. He seemed to be quelling a smile. Clearly he hadn't felt as drunk as she and Calandriel head, considering his size and stature.

"I think you made the right choice in calling it a night. Why don't you lay down," Alistair said, his smile less laughing and more sweet.

Astrid knelt back down next to the trundle, and promptly flopped in. She reached into the crack between the trundle and under the bed and pulled out a thin flannel blanket. She shook it out over her legs. It smelled dusty and old, but at least it was warm.

"Er, Astrid, I can sleep down there. You are a lady, you should have the real bed. It wouldn't be right," Alistair said quietly to her, still standing next to the trundle.

"No, no. Alistair, when is the last time you slept in an actual bed? Honestly? For me, well, it's just been a week. I imagine it's been a lot longer for you. You go on. I won't take no for an answer." Astrid said, curled up happily in the bed.

"If you insist," Alistair sighed. Then he whispered, "Thank you."

Astrid didn't reply, so close to sleeping she pretended that she had already fallen into her dreams. Through her squinted eyes, she saw Alistair sit in the chair near the hearth, next to the one where she had set her things. He picked up one leg and removed his boot with a few clinks and unlatchings, then the other one. Then he unlaced and pulled off his gloves. He set them next to his boots on the ground.

Astrid knew he probably thought she was asleep, but she was so inebriated, she didn't bother to stop watching. He stood up now to pull off his heavy leather studded hauberk with chainmail sleeves. It was tight fitting and heavy and took some effort to pull off. His white linen shirt got bunched up in the armor and came off all at the same time. Astrid felt her stomach quiver at the sight of his bare chest. The light from the hearth flickered over his body. He was thickly built, but with a little excess fat. Just a small belly. His skin was pale and his chest was dusted in golden curling hairs that trailed all down his front and into the waist of his breeches. Removing his shirt had ruffled his hair so it flopped over his forehead. He really was quite handsome, almost noble looking. Astrid's last thoughts were if he was common or high born as she drifted into sleep. 

As Astrid was falling asleep and Alistair was getting ready for bed, Calandriel rose from her table and sat across from the tan, blonde haired elf. Her companions being gone, she did not need to worry about what they might think of her. Calandriel knew she was being reckless, but the treatment of elves that evening combined with the wine had her blood boiling.

The elf smiled and got up to pull out a chair for her. 

“I was wondering when you might join me, lovely one,” he crooned in a lyrical Antivan accent. 

“I am so glad to see another elf here,” Calandriel breathed. “I just feel so alone in Lothering.”

“I understand. I travel alone much of the time, but Lothering has its special way of seeming even lonelier,” the roguish elf whispered. “What is your name?”

“Kaja,” Calandriel said without missing a beat. “And yours?”

“My name is Zed,” he said. Only Calandriel detected the slight hesitation that indicated he too was using a false name. All the better Calandriel thought.

“My lady, you have looked so troubled this night,” Zed said. He was quite forward and placed his hand atop of hers on the table while pouring her a glass of wine with his left hand.

“I’ve been at the Circle tower for so long, I’ve forgotten how harsh Ferelden is for elves. It’s so unfair,” Calandriel said, still barely audible.

“Yet you keep human companions?” Zed asked, tilting his head. His tone was friendly. His eyes were a seafoam green, standing out so crystalline and vivid against his tan skin. It had seemed so long since Calandriel had seen another elf. There were virtually none at Ostagar and they had seen hardly anyone else on the road to Lothering to speak of at all. 

“They’re alright,” Calandriel conceded. “I’m just not used to being called ‘knife-ear’ or worse by people I don’t even know. If only they realized I was defending them, learning to fight for them,” Calandriel noted.

Zed simply laughed, “They never shall. But I do appreciate what you do, even if you do not reveal to me who you really are, my lady,” At this, he lay his hand upon her knee under the table. Calandriel quickly clutched at his hand and met his eyes with an intensity, desperation, lust. Zed smiled, but then it quickly faded. He nodded, sensing Calandriel’s need for companionship, the need to be a part of someone else.

“I know a place,” Zed said, clasping Calandriel’s hand beneath the table as he looked over at her, the intensity in her silver-grey eyes alarming. He led her downstairs and out of the tavern, to a place in Lothering that only those with the darkest of intentions would visit. It was the back alley between the inn and the trading post, and at this hour it was completely deserted, even by refugees.

“You are a rare gem. It does make me happy to gaze upon a familiar looking face, I shall admit,” Zed whispered into her ear. They were on a narrow path between the two buildings, and harled walls rose on either side of them. 

“I just get so frustrated,” Calandriel said. “I feel so alone in my journey. That’s why I couldn’t stop staring at you. I felt I knew you, even though we’ve never met,” Calandriel muttered into his silken blonde hair. Zed smelled of the bergamot oranges of Antiva and rosemary. Calandriel reached her arms around his neck and brought her forehead to meet that of this familiar stranger’s.

Zed smiled as he wrapped his arms back around her as they leaned against the stone wall. He dug his fingers into her shoulder blades and ran his hands up and down her back, comforting and friction-building. 

“Then tonight, let us not be alone. I shall be your companion,” Zed lilted with a handsome grin. He suddenly kissed Calandriel, who was leaning against the harled edifice of the trading post. His lips were full and soft, and Calandriel was not at all surprised when she felt his warm tongue probing her mouth. She did not know who this Zed was, but she simply wanted to feel lost, to be part of someone else. She answered his kiss by placing her hand on his muscular chest and trailing down. 

Calandriel delved her hand beneath Zed’s leather skirted armor, making her intention final and clear. Zed made an inquisitive hum as he kissed her back, his lips leaving hers and outlining her jaw, neck, and nape as he started to gather her robes up.

Calandriel felt Zed’s flesh, hard and hot in her hand and gave it a squeeze. Zed simply laughed, as though he were most accustomed to these sorts of encounters. Zed grasped Calandriel’s waist to steady her against the wall as he positioned himself and at last with a great gasp, delved into her. Calandriel grasped his head and combed her fingers through Zed’s silken blonde hair as she hiked one leg around his backside.

“You are not alone tonight,” Zed grunted in Calandriel’s pointed ear as they writhed against the wall. “I can give you this at least, my fellow stranger.”

Calandriel was encompassed by this Antivan elf’s heat and friction and could not muster a verbal response. Being with someone, someone who was like her, felt so familiar and comforting, that she never wanted to sever from him, stranger as he was.

[ ](http://imgur.com/K2O8V7t)


	6. Cozying Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astrid and Alistair share an intimate moment at the inn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a few liberties with Alistair's past. For one thing, in our story, we decided he doesn't know his true parentage yet. It will make for a more impacting reveal later on.

An incredibly deep drone started to sound in the pitch darkness. It was singular and almost inaudible. Soon, other deep voices joined in the drone, almost forming a chant of unearthly voices. The sound and the darkness pressed in on Astrid’s brain, becoming louder and closer, louder and closer. The sound almost felt like it was coming from within Astrid’s own heart.

She felt uneasy as the drone became louder and louder, more and more voices adding to it. She covered her ears but it did not help. 

“Stop! Please stop! I can’t bear it!” Astrid cried out in despair, waking herself. She abruptly sat up in the bed, her chest heaving from her taint-induced nightmare. Suddenly wondering how loud she had been, Astrid looked over to her right at Alistair, up in the higher bed.

“Your first nightmare about the darkspawn? The taint will take some getting used to,” Alistair said down to her. Clearly he had been watching or had heard her. Astrid was unsure how she felt about that, but was still so afraid that she could not consciously speak. 

“Should I expect this to happen often?” Astrid asked, sitting up and clutching at her head, which felt tense from the drink and the dreams.

“It is just one of the unfortunate side effects of becoming a Grey Warden, I’m afraid,” said Alistair in a sigh. He reached over to the bedside table and poured a glass of water from the pewter carafe that was sitting there. He handed the cup to Astrid, and as she took it, she felt the warmth of his hand brush against her own. 

“Does it ever get any easier?” she asked, her stomach fluttering at the man’s touch. 

“You learn to cope with the nightmares.” 

Astrid could sense there were things he was not telling her, but she did not question him further. The atmosphere of the quiet room was too comforting and she already felt soothed by the cool water and the softness of Alistair’s voice.

He leaned on one arm, his hand propping up his head as he gazed down at her. She tried not to stare at his bare chest, or where the blanket draped over his waist, leaving the rest of his body to the imagination. 

She took another gulp of water. “I don’t think I’ll be able to fall back asleep any time soon. Will you tell me a bit about yourself?”

“You mean like my past?” Alistair asked, a little taken aback. For a moment Astrid was fearful she had been too bold but then the man’s face softened into a wide smile. “Of course. Forgive me, I should have told you more before. It’s just with everything that’s happened in the last few days… The battle, the Blight, traveling… Duncan…” His face saddened at mentioning the name. 

A silence loomed over the room for a moment and suddenly Astrid felt very uncomfortable. She had hardly known the man who had recruited her into the order. “I’m… sorry,” was all she could manage to say, her round brown eyes gleaming up at him. 

Alistair looked down at her, the fire dancing in his warm chestnut eyes, and the smile returned to his face once again. He continued, “I grew up in Redcliffe village. I didn’t know who my father was, but it was said my mother had been a serving maid who’d died in childbirth. Arl Eamon took pity on me and rather than sending me to an orphanage, I became his son. For ten blissful years, I lived at Redcliffe castle, raiding the pantries, and driving the cooks mad.” He laughed heartily at the memory of it. “Eamon cared a great deal for me, but everything changed when he took on his second wife. The first had died before I was even born and had never produced him any children. Isolde, his second wife, came from Orlais and made it her mission to marry Eamon. He in turn could not resist the charms of this beautiful, young and wealthy woman and they soon married and gave birth to a son, Connor. That’s when things started to turn. Isolde accused Eamon of adultery, saying that I must have been his bastard, because why else would he take an interest in bringing up some common serving wench’s boy? She convinced him to send me to the Chantry to become a templar.”

“That sounds tumultuous,” Astrid said, rapt with attention. “I’m so sorry she was so cruel. As a mother, you would think she would have understood.”

“I would not say that she was a cruel woman. Just… proud.” Alistair said, his eyes now fixed on the hearth behind them. “Eamon continued to support me throughout my training, though. I was able to visit often and he wrote me frequently, sending me money so that I could come home.”

“And what of Chantry life?” Astrid asked.

“At first, I was excited. That is until I realized how much studying was expected of me, and how many verses I had to memorize, and how much devotional time was to be spent at the Chantry. I was not suited for it. I wanted to fight, to swing a sword, to ride a horse, to be a hero! I was always getting into trouble for my clever parodies of the Chant of Light,” he chuckled, and then recited very solemnly, "And there I saw the Butt City, its breeches forever stain’d, its cheeks forever shut. Heaven has been filled with silence. I knew then, and cross’d my fart with shame.”

Astrid spat out some of her water, shaking with laughter. She knew the true words all too well, having had to memorize the verses herself. 

“And don’t even get me started on the legends of SHART-an!” he said, and the two of them burst into uproarious laughter. It was a while before they could calm themselves once again, and Alistair continued. “Then at 19, just before taking my vows, Duncan came and told me of the Blight. He convinced the Knight-Captain to release me so that I could join the Grey Wardens. At that point, Duncan became like a father to me. That was five years ago, and now, well, you know the rest.” This time he did not become disheartened at the mention of his mentor’s name, but instead he beamed down at Astrid, who returned his smile. “Ah, it feels good to laugh,” he said. 

“Indeed it does,” Astrid agreed. “But I wonder what’s become of Calandriel? It’s awfully late. Do you think one of us should go and check on her?”

“If she’s not still in the common room, I’ll go and check with the innkeep. Maybe he saw where she went,” he said, standing up. The blanket that had covered his lower region slid from his hip as he stood and Astrid clenched her jaw and looked away at the sight of his tight linen undergarment. She felt her cheeks flush and hoped that he would not see. Thankfully, he had turned and was already pulling up a pair of breeches. She could not help but sneak a peek as the woolen pants went up over his shapely bottom. Next he threw on a white tunic that bared the top of his chest and then made his way to the door, grabbing his sword as he went. He stopped and turned to say, “I’ll be right back,” and his gaze lingered on her for longer than was necessary. He too felt his cheeks redden and then he scrambled out the door. 

Astrid let out the breath she had been subconsciously holding in and then looked down to see that her own blanket had become askew. She had been sitting the whole time cross-legged in nothing but her tunic and hadn’t even noticed. She hastily covered herself and lay back down, setting the water glass aside and closing her eyes. If it had been difficult to sleep before, it certainly would be worse now. Her heart was racing, but it was the good kind of excitement that had it pounding in her chest. She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

[ ](http://imgur.com/MQ0p84S)


	7. A Tryst Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair gets worried and seeks Calandriel to make sure she's safe.

Alistair crept onto the balcony and peered down into the main hall of the tavern. The room was completely vacant except for the barman who, to Alistair’s surprise, was reading a book. Literacy was not terribly common among those outside the noble class and the scholars of the mage towers or the Chantry. 

“ _Swords and Shields,_ eh?” said Alistair as he descended the stairs, indicating the book. As he got closer, he noticed that it was a different fellow than the one who’d served them earlier, though the resemblance made it clear that they were related. It made sense that one man could not keep watch at all hours of the night and day. “Are you a big fan of Varric Tethras?”

The man hastily put down the book, seemingly embarrassed. Swords and Shields had a reputation for being a smutty romance novel, although Alistair had never read it. 

“What can I do for you, friend?” the man asked, clearly flustered and not wanting to talk about his choice in erotic literature. 

“Did you see a woman in a purple cloak leave? She’s one of my companions.”

“Ahh, ‘companion,’ eh?” The man nudged an elbow suggestively at Alistair, raising his eyebrows up and down.

“My traveling companion, you fool! Somebody’s been reading a bit too much of that ribald writing for their own good.”

“Alright, alright. No need to get testy!” the man said, throwing his hands up. “Might be I did see her leave. With that roguish looking elven man. Dangerous-lookin’ feller he was. And a knife—an elf to boot!” He saw the anger flash in Alistair’s eyes at the insult and stopped himself. His eyes flicked to the gleaming sheath hung at the man’s belt and then at his muscular physique. 

“Thanks,” Alistair said gruffly and then left the bar. He swore loudly as he went over the threshold, feeling a jagged bit of wood go into his foot. I really should have put some shoes on, he thought. But all he’d had were heavily armored boots that he’d been too tired to put on. 

Outside in the alley, a night watchman was on patrol, his right hand clutching the sheath of his sword, his left holding aloft a torch. He rounded the corner and came upon the scene where the two elves were having their passion. Calandriel’s hood had fallen down, revealing the pointed ears that marked her true nature. 

“What’s going on here?” the patrolman called. “Damn knife-ears. You trying to burden us all by making more of your kind?” He dropped his torch and pulled out his sword, clearly eager to get rid of these sub-humans that dared to enter his city. 

The rogue turned to face Calandriel once more and said confidently through his thick accent, “Excuse me for a moment, my dear. Let us continue this tryst when I have finished with this… inconvenience.” He cupped a hand to her ivory cheek and then broke apart from her before striding purposefully towards the guard. He stopped and put his hands on either of his hips and smiled a rakish smile. Calandriel remained pressed against the wall, silent and fearful. 

Just then, Alistair, having heard voices, carefully peered around the corner of a building. He could see the backside of the patrol guard, grasping his sword, the rogue standing with confidence, and Calandriel, flattening herself against the brick of the inn. 

The elvish rogue let out a hearty laugh and the guard faltered ever so slightly. He steadied himself once again, gripping the hilt of the sword so tightly it turned his knuckles white. “What are you laughing about, you filthy knife-ear?”

The rogue took a few more steps until he was almost within reach of the man’s sword. “Your death,” he said, his eyes narrowing. 

_What in the hell is this elf doing?_ Thought Alistair. _He’s going to get himself AND Calandriel killed. I’ve got to do something!_ At that very moment, he burst from the shadows, arching his sword in a great, sweeping motion. The guard reacted quickly and turned, his blade meeting with Alistair’s, metal clanging on metal. As their swords clashed, the man gave a sudden grunt and fell to his knees. Within seconds, he fell over dead. 

The rogue stood over the body, holding two very fine-looking silverite daggers, now coated in glistening bright red blood, a grin on his face. He bent down to wipe the blades on the guard’s tunic and then began searching his pockets.

Alistair stared at him in disbelief as he watched the elf rifling for the few silver coins he could find. “He would have killed you,” he said as the elf stood up, pocketing the loot. 

“Then it is a good thing you were here,” said the elf matter-of-factly. He slid his daggers into the leather sheaths hanging from his belt. 

“But… if I hadn’t been... It’s like you knew I was coming!”

“There are some… good things about being a ‘knife ear’ as this gentleman so eloquently put it. Our hearing is impeccable. Not to mention, I can hear a good curse from a mile away. Antiva is _full_ of sailors, after all.”

Alistair suddenly felt embarrassed, remembering the splinter in his foot and the way he’d sworn as he left the inn. 

Just then, Calandriel came running, finally able to peel herself from the wall she had been trying so desperately to become a part of. “Oh, thank you so much!” she cried. “I don’t know what happened. I can kill a darkspawn without a second thought, but I froze the moment that racist _shemlen_ bastard opened his mouth.” 

Alistair nodded and then turned his attention to the tan-skinned man standing before him. Here was the whole reason Calandriel had been drawn into this dangerous situation in the first place. He appeared to be a rather untrustworthy character. “And… who are you?” he said in a skeptical tone. 

“My apologies, friend. I am Zed. Traveler, master of stealth, world-renowned lovemaker… and expert _assassin_.” He bowed as he spoke, and locked eyes with Alistair on the last word. 

“And I’m the King of Ferelden,” Alistair said sarcastically, annoyed at the elvish man’s flamboyance. “And I trust you already know Calandriel here quite well, by the look of things.” The woman’s hair was much messier than usual, indicating what had been going on before he’d arrived.

“ _Calandriel?_ ” said the elf in mock surprise. “But you told me your name was Kaja! You wound me, you silver deceiver!” He clutched a hand to his heart dramatically.

“Oh, cut the crap. I know your name isn’t Zed,” she said.

“Alright, alright,” the elf said, knowing he’d been caught in a lie as well. “My true name is Zevran Arainai. Everything else I have told you is true, though. Especially the part about being an _outstanding_ warmer of beds!” He took one of the woman’s ivory hands and kissed it passionately. Calandriel stifled a giddy smile and Alistair’s face turned pink. 

“Well. It was… nice to meet you, but, speaking of beds, I think we ought to be going back to ours. Lots to do in the morning, you know…” said Alistair, not very tactfully. 

“ _Your_ bed!?” exclaimed the rogue, looking from Alistair to Calandriel. “I see… Well, it certainly has been a _pleasure_ ,” he said, this time not sounding quite as self-assured. “Now, if you will excuse me, I should take care of this body.” Despite his lithe figure, he was able to hoist up the dead guardsman with ease and in a moment, he disappeared into the shadows of the buildings surrounding them. Calandriel watched him go, unable to explain herself before he was gone.

Alistair pretended not to notice her distress. “Come on. There’s a warm, comfortable bed with your name on it,” he said with the intention of sleeping on the floor when they got back. 

Calandriel sighed and stalked back to the inn, the knight carefully looking around for more foes. As they reached the front side of the building, Alistair paused and peered into the distant shadows and could have sworn he saw the rogue looking back at them. With a blink, he was gone, and the two of them headed back to the room, settled themselves, and all three of them finally fell asleep.


	8. Astrid Takes Charge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A favor is requested of the Wardens. Alistair is hurt in the ensuing ambush.

Early the next morning, Calandriel, Alistair, and Astrid arose quietly, no one making a comment about anything that had happened the night before. Again, each was lost in his or her own thoughts. On their way to the general goods store, they passed through the very alley which Calandriel and Zevran had occupied the night before. Alistair had not mentioned this to Astrid, just that he had found her when he returned to the room, and then promptly went to sleep. Calandriel was in no rush to relate the activities herself. She felt a small frisson as they passed through the alley and wondered where Zevran had spirited away to last night. 

The three entered Dane’s General Supplies, Dane being a common name in Lothering of tradespeople. The proprietress stood behind a wooden counter, clearing stray items and marking notes in a ledger as she put each item in its proper place. 

“Morning. What will the three of you be needing today? Mind, I might be short on quite a few items, seeing as very few visitors are coming to Lothering as of late,” the buxom woman said, smiling, but eyeing them warily.

Astrid was unsure of who should do the talking. She wanted to take charge, but knew she was still so new to adventuring. 

“I need an oil stone. I know you could use it, too, Alistair,” Astrid said, contributing somewhat to the conversation.

“Yes, yes,” Alistair muttered distractedly as he went through a mental inventory of everything else they would need. “We’ll take an oil stone and fifteen arrowheads, 50 grams of dried elfroot, 50 grams of dried deep mushrooms, a roll of gauze, some cured ham….” 

Calandriel drifted off as Alistair boringly rattled on his list of dry goods. When would they really get going? What were they doing in this backwards refugee city? She really hoped they didn’t get swindled into helping the city guards they had encountered last night. 

As if on cue, the store front door opened and the young guard quickly dashed in.

“Great,” Calandriel said, not even caring that it had been aloud.

“Grey Wardens,” the guard panted. “You are needed. The Revered Mother in the Chantry seeks your assistance helping some refugees reclaim their farmsteads. Some outlaws have invaded two prominent farmsteads, which supply most of the little produce we can get here. Please come,” he looked back and forth between Alistair, Calandriel, and Astrid as his chest heaved up and down, expectantly.

“Was it you who told the Revered Mother of our presence? Before we even agreed to help you?” Calandriel asked the guard.

“We are desperate,” the young man said, sounding just that, “Our small party of guards have enough to deal with trying to keep refugees from killing each other and keeping unsavory folk out of the city. You Wardens said you were planning on traveling, so we thought you might be able to assist us. I do seem to recall one of you saying you’ll ‘see what you can do’ upon admittance to the city. We do not let many outsiders in these days,” the young man was smarter and becoming more firm than he had upon first appearance. 

“I’d like to help,” Astrid said frankly to the guard.

Alistair firmly seized her arm and said to the guard, “A moment with my companions, please.”

The three Wardens formed a small huddle. 

“Astrid, we need to get going. The darkspawn are continuing north from the Wilds and we cannot tarry here for long,” Alistair said in an urgent whisper.

Calandriel raised her eyebrows at him markedly, “I agree, Alistair. I think we should leave this place,” she said. “Before anything else happens,” the elf added under her breath.

“Is our duty not to the whole of Thedas? Don’t pretend you didn’t notice all of the refugees we’ve seen around town. If people aren’t coming into the city, then food isn’t. I’m going to the Chantry,” Astrid’s voice quavered, but she stood firm, the young optimist of Highever.

“Why would you want to help these _shemlens_? I’m so sick of this provincial pit. We should just go. Obviously we aren’t going to get any armed forces here to help us since Lothering can barely cover its own rear end, so why bother helping?” Calandriel was still feeling exhausted from yesterday’s travel, and the fact that she had not gotten very much sleep last night.

“Astrid,” Alistair said, as though he were speaking to a child, “I know after your nightmare last night, you are probably fearful of encountering more darkspawn, but that’s what--”

Astrid gasped, taken aback that Alistair had brought it up. “Go on, tell everyone!” she cried, extending her arms out, “You two may think I’m fearful, but I’m just as willing to fight darkspawn. That is here nor there. We were allowed in here to eat, drink, and trade, on the condition that we would help the city in some way, so I’m holding to that.” 

The young guard, who clearly felt uncomfortable standing in the shop while the three Wardens had a not-so quiet discussion, looked up as he saw Astrid step towards him. The young man, however, lacked the emotional sympathy to see how she set her jaw and quickly brushed hot, angry tears out of her eyes.

“I’ll go with you. Please show me to the Chantry,” Astrid said tersely to the guard, stepping towards the door.

Calandriel and Alistair looked at each other, sighing and shaking their heads respectively. Calandriel wished that it was still the night before, loose and free with drink, and rife with Zed--Zevran’s sweet nothings in her pointed ears and kisses on her soft neck. _Zevran,_ she thought again, wondering if he was still lurking about in Lothering. Most likely not, considering what he had done, but Calandriel couldn’t help but hope.

“I’ll go with her after all,” Calandriel said abruptly to Alistair. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t get wrapped up in this business for too long.” 

“What?” Alistair said. “Well, it seems I have no choice. One more day, then,” he said, resigned. He turned to the proprietress and let her know they would collect their order later that night or the following morning, if she would please wrap all items for travel.

* * *

By mid morning, Astrid found herself heading to the southeast of Lothering outside the city gates at a quick clip. She knew Calandriel and Alistair were a few yards behind her, but she just wanted to be alone. When she got upset or angry, she simply cried and she did not want the others to see more weakness from her than they already had. She thought that Alistair would have agreed with her, to do the right thing and help, and that Calandriel would certainly be more sympathetic to fearful people in a desperate situation. Maybe she was the foolish one. Suddenly, she remembered an old conversation she had had with her father.

Bryce Cousland had always made a point to visit all of his tenants in the surrounding village of Highever. One time, just upon returning from a visit to speak with King Cailan, Teyrn Cousland had gone immediately to see the many farmers, coopers, spirit makers, and other people of his estate, even before going inside to Highever. Astrid had been playing outside the castle gates and ran to accompany her father.

“Why don’t you want to go tell Mother and Fergus about the King and court? Why do we have to go see everyone in the village?” Astrid had asked.

“The villagers at Highever pay me rents and I offer them the protection of my name and guards. These people have essentially fed and clothed you with their wool, leather, milk, vegetables, and grains. These people do much for us and I must look out for them in return,” Bryce explained to his tomboy-of-a-girl, Astrid.

“So you want to show them you care? That you can help them even if you are of noble birth?” Astrid asked, wanting clarification.

“I’m no gem-counting Orlesian,” the Teyrn laughed. “Astrid, no matter what you do or where you go, I want you to remember the strength of the Cousland name, and the skills that your mother and I have taught you. There are very many people in the world who cannot protect themselves as we can with our weapons and castle. Not everyone is as fortunate as we are.”

Astrid’s tears spilled afresh at the memory of her father. Since then, she had always loved to accompany him on visits to the village to hear complaints, sample crops, and collect rents. However much of a delay it might be, she knew that deep down if she could help Rolf Dane and his family, her father would be proud.

The Revered Mother at the Lothering Chantry had been grateful when the Wardens had come to meet her. She had quickly introduced them to Rolf Dane and his family, consisting of a young wife, and six children, from a boy of 12 all the way down to a baby in the wife’s arms. Apparently some nefarious bandits had invaded their farm home late at night a few weeks ago, right before the first harvest. They had threatened to kill all of the children and Rolf’s wife as well as burn the fields if Rolf and his family did not evacuate the home. The outlaws said the same would happen if Rolf attempted to return. Rolf and his family had spent the time since at the Chantry, anxiously thinking about harvest time.

As the fields of wheat and barley surrounded her, Astrid started to make out a small home as well as several barns and outbuildings nearby. Rolf had told them that there were just three bandits who had outed the family that night, but Astrid knew an abandoned farm could hold more sketchy characters. As she approached the dooryard of the home, Astrid turned around and waited for her companions to catch up to her.

Calandriel’s fair skin was flushing pink from their journey from town. It had taken the three around forty-five minutes to reach the fields from Lothering, but the guards had been correct. It was a fairly simple path to reach Rolf’s farm. Calandriel was not feeling as optimistic about running into Zevran out in these parts. She looked over at Alistair, who seemed to be having similar thoughts. When he saw Astrid turn around to face them, he quickened to catch up.

“What do you think? Front door?” Astrid said to the two, businesslike.

“I can place a quick aura spell to see if anyone is in the house,” Calandriel volunteered. As far as everyone in Lothering knew, it was a small band who had taken over the farm, but they couldn’t be too careful.

Alistair shut his eyes, mentally scanning the area for darkspawn. He was in stoic templar mode, deep down swimming in far too many mixed emotions than he could handle. Just twelve hours before, he had been feeling happiness with Astrid. Then there was the encounter with Calandriel and that Antivan elf, the overall empty feeling of losing Duncan, and now Astrid being difficult. It was too much. Dealing with people was taxing, and that’s why he tried to always keep it light, not too serious. 

“I don’t sense any darkspawn,” Alistair said neutrally. “Why don’t we go through the back door?”

“I thought you might be a back door kind of man,” Calandriel replied.

“Enough!” Alistair said, walking up near where Astrid was standing at the fence.

“He doesn’t deny it!” Calandriel giggled. She, too, felt a mix between excitement every time she remembered Zevran and annoyance every time she reminded herself that they were still basically in Lothering.

The three entered the dooryard and sidled around the wooden farmhouse to the chicken yard behind the house. Calandriel stepped into the chicken yard and walked up to the back door, transforming her wand once again into a staff. A few tumbleweed tufts of feathers drifted about, but no chickens remained in the yard. The bandits had probably eaten or sold them all. Calandriel touched her long staff to the back door. The staff emitted a greenish glow on the point of contact that was difficult to see in the morning light, but still detectable. As she moved the staff around the door and near walls, the color remained green. As she reached the farther left edge of the back wall, the glow turned yellow, to a fiery orange. 

She turned back to her companions and whispered, “There is a small amount of body heat emanating from the left side of the house. I recall Rolf saying the family all sleeps upstairs.”

Calandriel returned to the back door and slowly pulled the handle and started to step inside.

Astrid pulled her back by grabbing a handful of her robes. Calandriel nearly lost her balance as she found her footing behind Astrid. Astrid crouched down into a squat and cut a piece of line that had been strung across the door jamb at about an ankle’s height. Stealthily walking in a step, Astrid slowly pushed a set tooth trap away to the side with her foot so no one else would step on it. The house was dark. Ragged cloths were hung in all the windows to block out any light.

Calandriel now led the way, her staff glowing a soft yellow. The floor was littered with chicken bones and empty stoneware bottles. Astrid could see small leather coin purses in various places as well. This was simply a hideout that promised better eating and shelter than the larger bandit camp to the north of Lothering. Astrid and Alistair followed Calandriel’s glow as she quietly stepped upstairs. Alistair could hear snoring. So the ruffians were asleep. 

As they reached the landing, Calandriel wrinkled her nose. _We probably could have found them based on their foul body odor,_ she thought, as a rank smell permeated the area. She smelled smoke, grease, sweat, and stale urine. As the three stepped into the first doorway on the right, they all hesitated. Laying in the small bed was a dwarf, with a signature tattoo on his face indicating he had been exiled. In his sleep, his arm muscles were still tense as he clutched a gleaming axe with both hands across his chest. At the end of the bed was a mace, and Calandriel could also make out the handle of a dagger sticking out from beneath the dwarf’s pillow. Calandriel looked over to Astrid, who nodded slightly. He would naturally be more resistant to her spells. 

Astrid stepped around to the right side of the bed and drew her daggers and crossed them over the dwarf’s thick neck. At once, his beady eyes opened and he clutched his axe and thrust it at Astrid. Calandriel swung her staff back and whapped the dwarf squarely between the eyes.

“Aghhh me!” he cried out in a deep gurgling voice. 

“Where are the others?” Astrid whispered. The axe had slid out of his hands upon Calandriel’s impact.

The dwarf lifted a thick arm and pointed towards the bedroom door. Astrid and Calandriel looked up simultaneously to see an enormous man, perhaps even a Qunari--it was difficult to tell in the dark--wrapping his elbow around Alistair’s neck, putting pressure on it by grasping the arm with his other hand. Alistair struggled, but clearly he had been taken off guard, ready to help the ladies contend with the dwarf. 

With a grunt of effort, Astrid drew the crossed daggers down and slit the outlaw’s throat. Calandriel was already up and performing the tricky task of firing spells at Alistair’s strangler without harming him. She pointed her staff at the hulking form and muttered a disorientation spell. Even if it struck Alistair, he already appeared to be passed out. The spell struck and the great man stumbled backward, letting Alistair slump to the floor. Astrid lunged forward and kicked him in the stomach. He was so large, though, that even though confused, he kept his balance. Calandriel sent a forceful spell from her staff that knocked him down. 

In a flash, Astrid straddled him and gave him the same treatment she had given the dwarf. 

“Can you check for anyone else?” Astrid whispered to Calandriel.

She recited the aura spell, but the staff did not change colors. They both immediately dashed back to Alistair, who lay on the ground at the foot of the child sized bed in the first room, unconscious.


	9. Hoping for Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calandriel and Astrid desperately scramble to find remedies for Alistair. Astrid meets a stranger in her efforts who may lend a helping hand.

“Alistair?” Astrid knelt and shook the knight’s limp form where it lay on the dusty wooden floor. His armor clanked and rattled, but the man inside it did not stir. “Alistair??” she said again, louder and more frantically. She turned her gaze up at Calandriel, her eyes wide with sudden fear. “Can you heal him?”

“Right,” said the elf, steadying herself. She wrapped both hands around the ivory staff and channeled energy from within. The branches at the top of the staff glowed a brilliant white before she cast the healing spell at Alistair.

Nothing happened.

“That’s odd. I can heal almost anything,” said the elven woman, but then realization crossed her face. “Except… certain--”

“Poisons?” Astrid finished, without looking up from their incapacitated companion.

“Yes.” Calandriel said sadly. “I never got around to learning about poisons.” She dropped to her knees beside Astrid, feeling suddenly very helpless.

Astrid was examining Alistair’s neck, where she noticed two sooty black marks forming on the skin. “He’s definitely been poisoned. And by the look of it, with the Adder’s Kiss… A very potent toxin with only one antidote.” Rogues were typically well-versed in the arts of poison and trap-making, and a good rogue was able to identify different types when they encountered them. “It can’t be cured by any spells or regular healing potions. We have to find one of the giant spiders that gave its venom to produce this poison in the first place. It’s the only way to make a potion to counteract it.”

“But… Wouldn’t the merchant in Lothering have such an ingredient?"

“No,” said Astrid in swift response. “It has to be fresh. And besides, I didn’t see any spider venom when we were there earlier this morning.”

“Ok,” Calandriel said, nervously. “We’ll have to find one of these spiders then. But we can’t leave him here. What if more of the bandits come?”

“He has very little time, Calandriel…” Astrid stood and dusted off her breeches as she did so. Her mind was racing with thoughts as she formulated their plan. “One of us will have to stay here to protect him in case anyone comes. You should keep applying healing magic to the marks on his neck… It may help to slow the poison and buy us more time. I’ll go. I know what to look for.”

The elven woman nodded and immediately began channeling magic again. This time, she folded her hands one over the other and placed them directly on top of the black mark that was now beginning to increase in size on Alistair’s neck.

Astrid took one last glance at them, particularly Alistair’s face, which had a dreamy, unconcerned expression on it, and then darted out of the house. _It can’t be too difficult to find a giant spider out here in the country,_ she thought desperately. _Why did I ever promise to help those people? If I had just done as everyone else suggested, we wouldn’t be in this mess. Alistair would be fine. It’s all my fault._ Tears began streaming down her cheeks again as she sprinted into the trees surrounding the farmstead. This time, she did not fight them back, and felt her face grow hot as she ran faster and faster, zigzagging between branches and searching for signs that spiders might be nearby. A half an hour passed before she was forced to slow her pace, but desperation kept her fiercely alert. After another fifteen minutes, panic gripped her heart, and she found it difficult to breathe. Suddenly, her foot caught on a root that was sticking up out of the ground and she fell. “Damn!” she shouted, as she landed face-first in the leaves. She let out an audible gasp and lay there for what felt like forever, struggling to catch her breath. She felt more than ever like crying now, but couldn’t manage a single tear through her frustration and fear. _I’ve failed,_ she thought miserably. _How did I ever expect to stop a Blight when I can’t even take care of some bandits without one of my companions dying?_

But just as the despair threatened to overcome her completely, she noticed something glittering in the distance. Instinct told her to rise, so she pushed herself up from the forest floor and began to edge slowly towards the thing that had caught her eye. As she got closer, she realized what it was. A great web, still glistening with dew, stretched out across the lower branches of the trees. It glinted from the few shafts of sunlight that streaked through the trees. It was quite possibly the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, but she still slashed at it with one of her daggers and continued on. Just as she expected, more webs followed the first, until the entire forest seemed draped with gauze and shadow.

She slashed at every web she saw, hoping to stir the canopy and alert the beasts back to the homes she was destroying. “Come out, you bastards!” she shouted, looking up all around her.

Her call must have done the trick, because just then, she heard a sound. She quickly rounded to face the direction of the noise and found herself no more than three feet from one of the massive creatures. It was larger than she was and black as the night, its fangs dripping with sticky venom.

“For Alistair,” she said, and then leapt into action. Astrid spun and darted around the spider, a dagger in each hand. She stabbed at the beast but did not strike her target. The spider was too quick. It hissed and jumped aside. She reacted quickly and somersaulted back towards it, this time making contact with her blade. The spider faltered but kept up the dance, lunging at her as she rolled away from it again. She felt reckless, and unafraid now, adrenaline pumping through her veins. The spider was bleeding vigorously from its side but came at her with a renewed fervor. She jumped out of its way, twisting as she did so until she faced it from behind. She dropped to one knee, steadying herself with her left hand. Now was her chance. In one fell stroke, she released the dagger from her right hand and watched it soar straight into the spider’s back. The beast struggled, but could not regain itself. Astrid ran towards it and plunged her other dagger directly into its head, killing it immediately.

She pulled her blades from the creature’s body and then slumped back down to her knees, wiping her brow with the back of a sleeve and trying to recapture her breath. I mustn’t waste time, she reminded herself, and pulled a small glass phial out of a pouch on her belt for which to collect the venom. Re-sheathing her bloodied weapons, she grasped one of the spider’s great fangs and tore it away. A slow drip of viscous, black venom began to leak from it and she held the phial up to collect it, careful not to let the foul liquid get on her hands. The venom would have to be injected or seep into a wound for it to take effect, and it was not as deadly on its own as it was when made into the Adder’s Kiss, but she would take no chances. What good would she be to Alistair if she was poisoned too?

The phial was almost entirely full when she heard the sound of a branch snap. Astrid quickly replaced the cork and stashed the bottle safely inside her pouch. As she stood, she realized the true danger that she was in. She was now surrounded by spiders, their hundreds of eyes glistening from out of the shadows like stars in the night sky. They began to make a horrible clicking noise as they advanced on her. She drew her blades once again, gripping them tightly. _If I die this day, at least I died doing what was right…_

But just as she was preparing herself for the onslaught, a brilliant flame came barreling through the trees, singeing the damp leaves overhead. It landed just feet before her with a loud CRACK! and broke out into a circle that surrounded her. The spiders hissed in terror and retreated from the flames, their legs casting frightening shadows into the forest as they fled.

“Calandriel?” she called out, but there was no answer. She turned around, searching for the source of the spell, and finally, the shadow of a figure emerged through the circle of flames. 

Astrid coughed as the fire died out, only to be replaced by clouds of billowing smoke. She could now make out the shape of what was unmistakably a woman, as the figure sauntered towards her, hips swaying in a sultry manner. “Who are you?” she choked.

“Some call me… the Witch of the Wilds. But _you_ may call me Morrigan.” The woman’s voice was low and seductive.

Finally the smoke cleared enough for Astrid to see the person standing before her. It was indeed a woman, who appeared to be no more than a few years older than Astrid herself. Her black hair was tied back but her loose bangs framed an alluring, dusky face. On one shoulder, she wore a black feather pauldron, and around her plunging neckline lay an ornate golden necklace. Astrid thought this was perhaps the most exotic woman she’d ever seen. She found herself staring and then remembered her courtly manners.  


“Thank you,” Astrid said. “You have no idea what’s at stake.”  


“Oh?” said the woman, putting a hand on one of her ample hips. “Well, it must be something pretty important to drive a noble girl like you out into the Wilds to dabble with spiders.”  


“It is.” Astrid said, curtly. “I really appreciate the help you’ve given me, but I have to go.”  


Morrigan waved a hand to let her pass, but then spoke again. “Perhaps I can be of more assistance?” She hesitated, her expression changing slightly. “Let me come with you.”  


Astrid eyed the woman with some suspicion, but she was in too much of a hurry to question it. She nodded. “Let’s go.”  


Upstairs in the Dane family farmhouse, Calandriel was trying everything she could think of to rouse Alistair and stop the poison from spreading. She thought of pinching the marks on his neck to squeeze the poison out, but thought that might just squeeze the venom further into his body. The elf continued to chant a healing spell, hovering her hands over his neck. She had propped his head up on a bunched up blanket that had slid off the bed during Astrid’s struggle with the dwarf. Calandriel grabbed Alistair’s limp arm and placed two delicate fingers on his wrist. She could just make out a pulse if she concentrated. Everything was happening so quickly. She and Astrid would be completely lost if Alistair was gone.  


“No,” Calandriel spoke aloud, alarming herself.  


She and Astrid would be lost without Alistair. They had no idea where any other Grey Wardens currently were, let alone how long it would take to get there. With resolution, Calandriel performed an encapsulating healing spell, wanting to set the rest of Alistair’s body aright, even though she couldn’t treat the poison.  


Calandriel’s pointed ears perked as she heard not one, but two sets of footsteps cross the threshold of the back door in the basement. She hoped it was not more bandits. Just in case, she rose to her haunches and crouched in a ready position.  


“Is he alive!?!?” Astrid cried, appearing in the upstairs hallway.  


Calandriel rose and stepped back so Astrid could kneel beside Alistair, whose neck was now nearly half covered in a deep purple rash, with black marks the darkest in the center. Calandriel just now noticed a strange woman standing behind Astrid. Next to her, she was a complete opposite. Where Astrid was a medium size and voluptuous, and fair featured, the woman standing behind her was tall and slender, with dark hair tied back. She was dressed in strange clothing, a loose shirt and a skirt that looked as though it was made of long leather strips sewn together. Calandriel sensed magic about her, to be sure. The woman’s golden hawk eyes met Calandriel’s in acknowledgement.  


Astrid was already pulling out the stopper in the vial of spider venom she had collected. Astrid continued to rummage through her satchel, trying desperately to gather the other ingredients she needed to act with venom. She pulled a deep mushroom from a crevice in the bag and chewed it. She also pulled out a small amount of elfroot and bit off a piece. These healing ingredients she normally kept on hand for minor cuts would react to the venom and, Maker willing, stop it from spreading in Alistair’s blood.  


“Astrid, who is she,” Calandriel whispered, but not making too much effort to be inconspicuous. She looked up at Morrigan again.  


“This is Morrigan,” Astrid said, “And if she didn’t come in time, I wouldn’t have made it back here alive. That’s the extent of my knowledge,” With that, Astrid spit the chewed up root and mushroom into the vial and recorked it, shaking the tube vigorously. The black venom fizzed initially, but then all Astrid saw were the chunks of plants swishing around in the tube. She hoped she had remembered correctly what to do. She uncorked the vial again and hands shaking, she lowered the vial and began to tip it over Alistair’s neck.  


“Slowly!” Morrigan exclaimed. “If you pour it too fast, the wound will swell shut and then, well..just do small drops at a time,” The witch, who had been respectfully standing aside was now kneeling down near the Wardens.  


Astrid took a deep breath and dropped a single drop over the black marks on Alistair’s neck. Nothing happened. Astrid looked over at Morrigan in question. Morrigan nodded for another drop.  


Calandriel continued to cast healing magic over Alistair while the human women made their earthly ministrations. Why in the world would that large man attacking Alistair have used poison? A woman’s weapon, usually found in tales of spurned Orlesian noble women. Perhaps that man knew he could take on Calandriel and Astrid but not Alistair alone in a fight. Who knew. Calandriel simply maintained her calm demeanor and hoped that everything would work. Astrid’s vial still looked nearly full she was dropping the antidote so slow.  


“Stop,” Morrigan softly commanded Astrid.  


“But it still looks awful, we need to keep going,” Astrid said, her voice quavering.  


“This takes some time to take effect. Has he any other injuries?” Morrigan asked, looking up at Calandriel.  


“None that I could find,” Calandriel said tersely. She hadn’t been with Astrid and Alistair that long, but she didn’t like this stranger coming in and telling them what to do. Their situation was too dire to voice complaint, though.  


“Well that’s good at least,” Morrigan said. “When you see some of the coloring start to disappear, you can continue. That way we know it’s working and we do not waste this antidote if the punctures are swollen shut,”  


Calandriel could see that waiting was tearing Astrid up. It was obvious to Calandriel that Astrid already cared greatly for their leader. Who knew if anything would ever come of it. In these desperate times, Calandriel felt that brief glimpses of passion such as the one she and Zevran had shared, were the most one might have. Who could think of love during a Blight?  


“There, see?” Morrigan softly said to Astrid as she pointed to the man’s neck. The very centers of the black marks were starting to turn a raw pink. Astrid began to pour a few more drops over the marks.  


They continued slowly like this for what seemed like hours. None of them could say how much time had actually passed. The marks faded from the inside, turning Alistair’s skin to a reddish pink that still looked painful. Calandriel eased on her healing spell when she started to feel herself tremble and need some respite.  


When the vial was getting low, Astrid still cautiously let droplets over Alistair. Suddenly, he drew in a quick breath, wincing as though he were feeling the sting for the first time. His eyes slowly opened and he looked blankly up at Astrid.  


“Alistair,” Astrid whispered, “How are you feeling?” She ran a hand through his matted blonde hair, too relieved to care about propriety.  


Alistair simply grimaced and took a few large, heaving breaths before his eyes fluttered back shut. Astrid looked up at Morrigan and Calandriel, who both looked calm.  


Calandriel nodded, “He is breathing deeply, that’s good. He is regaining strength.”  


Morrigan stood up, “You can see that most of his neck is better. Now he just needs to rest until he can walk on his own. It seems you two no longer need me,” She picked up her staff off of the floor and turned to go downstairs.  


“I’ll walk out with you,” Calandriel quickly called after her. She looked down at Astrid, who clearly was not leaving the convalescent’s side. Astrid’s hand rested on Alistair’s as she propped herself up next to him.  


When the two mages were in the back yard near the chicken coop, Calandriel asked,  


“Why are you helping us?” in all seriousness.  


“Does one need a reason other than simply helping someone in need?” Morrigan scoffed back.  


“That was a long time for you to stick around. Why are you alone? Do you live in the Wilds?” Calandriel did not want news of Wardens traveling to the wrong person.  


“My, aren’t we inquisitive!” Morrigan chimed. “I’ll tell you what I told your friend. I am Morrigan, and there are some who call me a Witch of the Wilds. I was simply traveling when I saw Astrid in over her head with those spiders,” Morrigan shrugged and looked blankly at Calandriel.  


“And what of you? Three Grey Wardens in a bandit warren instead of off fighting darkspawn?” Morrigan arched an eyebrow.  


“Did Astrid tell you we are Wardens?” Calandriel asked.  


“You’re not the only one with certain senses, _enchanter_. I quietly approached Astrid in the forest because I thought I sensed darkspawn. There have been so many near my mother’s home as of late that I know the feeling. When I saw it was a young woman, I realized she was probably tainted and simply wished to oblige my curiosity,” Morrigan explained.  


Calandriel pursed her lips. Clearly this witch was not telling her everything, but she did not seem to be lying.  


“Well, we had riff raff to clear out of that house and obviously Alistair was poisoned unawares. We’re ultimately trying to leave this area, though,” Calandriel admitted.  


“Is that so? Where are you heading?” Morrigan asked.  


“Well that’s just it. I really don’t know. Alistair is the one who knows who we need to call upon for help, but we need the actual treatises to get anyone to do anything. Why am I telling you all this? You probably have no idea what I’m talking about,” Calandriel waved her hand dismissively.  


Morrigan suddenly began rummaging in the small pouch she wore slung across her hips. After a moment, she pulled out a roll of cracked parchment, tied together with a leather thong.  


“Before I left... the house this morning, I grabbed these. I believe my mother found them at Ostagar when she was inspecting the area following the battle. Do they mean anything to you?” Morrigan held the papers out toward Calandriel.  


The elf took the ancient scroll and unwound the knot that held it together. As she unfurled the parchment, she saw that the roll actually contained three sheets of paper, all written in the same official-looking hand and aged brown ink. She read aloud from the first page:  


“ _...This document asserts that when called upon during times of Blight, the Dwarves of Orzammar are bound by oath to aid the Grey Wardens in their protection of Thedas, and destruction of evil..._  


"It’s signed by King Bemot, Paragon. In the year…” She squinted to make out the date amongst all the signatures. “400 Ancient!” She stared at the parchment, her eyes round with excitement. She looked up again at Morrigan. “Are these _really_ the ancient treaties? But they _must_ be!”  


The mage tower where Calandriel had spent most of her life had been filled with old scrolls dating to hundreds of years past. She had spent many a night staying up late, poring over the lush illuminations and admiring the calligraphy. She loved the artistry that went into papermaking and printworks. She examined the papers in her hands now and felt convinced that they were not a hoax. “I have to show the others!” she exclaimed before dashing back to the farmhouse. She did not look to see whether or not Morrigan had followed her, too intent on showing the papers to Alistair and Astrid.


	10. Three Wardens & a Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calandriel, Astrid, Alistair, and Morrigan discuss where to go after leaving the Dane farmhouse. Alistair is not pleased with the party addition. Astrid is upset with Alistair and Calandriel after observing an intimate moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: I added in the italics, because I love me some _emphasis!_

Alistair was now seated, his back propped up against the wall. His eyes were open, but his breathing remained labored. Astrid gazed at him with a worry-stricken face, and offered him her water skin. 

Calandriel rushed into the room, and knelt on Alistair’s other side. She laid the papers in his lap. “Look!” she cried. Alistair weakly picked up the top page and read it, as Astrid did the same with a second paper. Calandriel grabbed the third, having only glanced at the other pages before. 

“This is exactly what we were looking for,” Alistair said. “I can’t believe it.” 

“This one is for the mages!” Astrid said, holding her paper aloft so they all could see. “Calandriel, I bet you could convince your old fellows to aid us in a heartbeat!” 

Calandriel nodded distractedly. “This one enlists the help of the elves!” she exclaimed. “Maybe I could try to find my family--” She quieted herself before saying more, remembering suddenly that her companions were without parents. They did not seem to notice the way she had cut herself off, though. 

“Where did these come from?” Alistair asked, bewildered. 

“The witch had them. Morrigan.” Calandriel said. 

“Is she still outside?” Astrid asked. “Someone has to go and thank her before she leaves. This is incredible!” She stood and made her way out of the farmhouse. 

“Just be careful!” Alistair called after her and then fell into a fit of coughing. 

“Oh, here! Let me help you. I think I can feel a little of my mana returning.” Calandriel put her hands on each of Alistair’s shoulders and channeled white healing magic into him once again. 

Outside, Morrigan still stood waiting. Astrid approached her, extending a hand in gratitude. The woman took it somewhat reluctantly and shook. 

“We can’t even begin to express our gratitude for what you’ve done for us!” Astrid said. “Just a day ago, we were trying to figure out how three Grey Wardens could possibly think to stop a Blight, and now we’ve got what we need to form a whole army! The Archdemon won’t know what hit it!” 

“Yes, well… That’s that, then. I suppose I should be going.” Morrigan hesitated. “Unless… you have room in that army of yours for one more?” 

Astrid could tell how painful it was for this proud woman to ask for permission for something. She clearly was not used to it. “Of course! You have been so helpful thus far; how could we say no? We need all the help we can get!” Morrigan visibly relaxed a bit. “You have my thanks.” She inclined her head in a slight bow. “Now, perhaps we should check on your friend?” 

“Yes,” Astrid said, leading the way back inside. Upon reaching the room where they had left their companions, Astrid gasped audibly. Calandriel was straddled on Alistair’s lap, her hands seemingly wrapped around his neck. 

“Oh my!” said Morrigan salaciously, as Astrid stared in disbelief. 

“Thank Mythal you’re back!” Calandriel said breathlessly, scrambling to hoist herself up from the ex-templar’s lap. 

“We should get going soon,” Astrid blurted. “Clearly you’re feeling better, Alistair.” And with that, she scurried out of the farmhouse before anyone else could speak. 

“That seemed… abrupt.” Calandriel said, dusting off her hands. “I’m still out of mana. I thought I had enough to heal him up all the way, but I strained myself. I thought maybe if I had a better position I could do it. How about you?” She asked the other mage. 

Morrigan stepped forward, placing her hands on Alistair’s shoulders. The same white healing magic that Calandriel had been attempting to summon a moment ago enveloped him until he felt the last of his discomforts dissipate. “Thanks,” he said, finally able to stand up again. “I feel right as rain!” He rubbed a hand across his neck where the punctures had been and felt only smooth skin. “Astrid’s right, though. We really shouldn’t stay here any longer.” He picked up his sword, along with the treaties, and made for the door. “We ought to find somewhere to make camp and then determine which of these to pursue first.” 

“Alright. There is a relatively remote clearing off the main highway just a few miles North of Lothering. I’ve been camping there since I...it seems quite safe.” Morrigan explained to the Wardens. 

“Wait, you’re coming with us? Did I miss something while I was unconscious?” Alistair stopped and turned around, looking back and forth between Calandriel and Astrid. 

“Your young companion here has personally invited me. Is this a problem?” Morrigan casually raised an eyebrow at Alistair. 

“Frankly, yes.” Alistair said, “We know nothing about you, meaning no offense. My _young companion_ clearly has been acting rather rash as of late,” Alistair glared at Astrid and gritted his teeth. 

“Oh excuse me!” Astrid exclaimed in mock innocence. “It simply slipped my mind that we need to default to the wishes of the unconscious male of the group, lest we of the fairer sex make more _rash decisions!_ She brought us the treaties we were looking for, she saved my life so we could come give you the antidote. But no, that's not enough for you, is it? I’m done with you.” Without waiting for a response, Astrid pushed past Alistair, stomping down the stairs and out the back door. 

Morrigan looked at Calandriel and Alistair, clearly feeling awkward and out of place. She followed after Astrid and silently excused herself. 

When Morrigan had left them alone, Calandriel shook her head at Alistair. 

“What in Maker’s name did I do?!” Alistair exclaimed. 

“You clueless dolt,” she said. 

“You want this, this _witch_ coming along with us, then?” Alistair said accusingly. 

“Do you have any idea how worried Astrid has been about you? How quickly she left to go find you an antidote when she realized how you had been poisoned? She never left your side once she came back. And you embarrass her in front of a stranger as soon as you’re back to normal?” Calandriel said. 

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding me? You agree with her? After she roped us into helping the city that you couldn’t wait to leave? Who knows what this Morrigan woman could do to us? She could be a spy.” 

Calandriel heaved a great sigh. She knew he was right, but she felt for Astrid. The girl was naive and being honorable in a corrupt world would only harm them all in the end. While Calandriel had qualms about the witch, the woman had proven herself with her healing skills and clearly wished to join them. She could be an asset to their cause. 

“She could help us, too.” Calandriel began, “I know, I know. She’s an apostate. I had my worries at first but I've asked her some questions. She seems to geuninely want to help us. Let’s just camp with her tonight, we’ll take turns watching and find out more about her, and then take it from there. Believe me, I wish Astrid had talked to me, too, before agreeing to let this stranger accompany us but we don’t have time for getting bent out of shape about it. Let’s go.” Calandriel clapped him on the back. 

“One night.” Alistair said firmly. “But after this I’m taking no more chances. I’ve come too close to danger and haven’t been careful enough. Thank you, by the way,” Alistair said, tentatively meeting Calandriel’s silver gaze. 

The elf smiled. “Just some basic healing magic! It is exhausting, though. You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re well. I don’t know what we’d do without you. But come man, you need to tell that to Astrid, too.” 

The two Wardens left the dank farm house and joined Astrid and Morrigan in the dooryard. 

Astrid stood next to Morrigan, arms akimbo and nodding in a businesslike manner. Alistair stepped towards her. 

“Astrid,” he called, reaching a hand out toward the young woman. 

“Sounds like a good route, Morrigan!” Astrid said loudly, pretending not to hear him. “We do need to make a jaunt back to Lothering to pick up our order of supplies, but that shouldn’t take too long. The sooner we get back there, the sooner we can leave to head north,” 

With that, Astrid began marching back towards Lothering from the farm house. Calandriel stepped in to join her. Alistair looked over at Morrigan and narrowed his eyes. She simply smirked and followed behind the Warden women. 

_I don’t know what’s worse,_ Alistair thought. _Being a templar and swearing off women or not being a templar and trying to figure out why they act so strangely?_

In Lothering, the group made a brisk and productive circuit of the village. They reported back to the Chantry to let the Dane family know their home was free of criminals but did not tarry to chit-chat. The Wardens picked up their order from the general store and made their way out of Lothering. 


	11. Making Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some apologies are issued, and tents are pitched.

It took the small party less than two hours to reach Morrigan’s clearing. It wasn’t marked or detectable from the main road, but Morrigan seemed familiar with the area and led the group through some dense foliage until they indeed reached a lush grass clearing in the middle of the woods. Calandriel could hear a stream nearby. While she had...enjoyed herself in one way in Lothering, it was truly the camping experience that felt familiar to her. She broke away from the group and walked toward the small stream. She turned around once more behind her to see Astrid bustling around the clearing, already staking out her tent and gathering kindling for a fire. She could hear Alistair asking the witch woman questions incessantly. Calandriel couldn’t help but smile, already feeling some affection for her fellow Wardens, stubborn, idiotic, naive, _human_ as they were. 

The elf splashed her face with some cool water from the stream and washed some dirt off of her hands. When she stood back up, she saw a male and female pheasant just downstream. She knew she had to move quietly. If Astrid or Alistair came tromping up to the stream, the game would likely fly away. Softly and quickly, Calandriel drew her staff and sent a small bolt of energy directly at the male. The female pheasant startled and began to flap her wings. Another bolt of energy and both birds were limp. Calandriel closed her eyes in silent gratitude, pausing before she collected the fowl for dinner.

Astrid was picking up twigs and dry leaves, and frankly any firewood she could find at the edge of the clearing when she saw Calandriel appear before her, two limp pheasants in hand. Astrid startled since Calandriel was such a quiet walker, but she hoped the elf didn’t see her flinch. Astrid stood up.

“Your skills once again save the day,” Astrid said, defeated.

Calandriel pursed her lips and gave Astrid a direct look. “Astrid, I know what you’re on about,” she said.

“What do you mean, _on_ about?” Astrid said, brown eyes grown large.

“Walk with me. I want to talk to you,” Calandriel said, already moving to take a great turn around the outskirts of camp. To Morrigan and Alistair, it just appeared that they were searching to make sure the clearing was indeed secure and secluded.

Calandriel turned to Astrid, “I know you are all in a funk because of how I was healing Alistair. But come on, friend! You know I think nothing of it. It was honestly just business.”

“Oh sure,” Astrid said, exasperated, “just business. You had to sit on him with your legs around him and your... _chest_ all...THERE!” Astrid waved her hand in a nondescript motion meant to indicate precisely where “there” was.

“Okay, maybe I could have used a little more discretion, but the point is, I have no feelings for him. You don’t need to get all in a huff with me about it.” Calandriel said.

“Well, what does that have to do with anything?” Astrid said, nonchalant.

“Oh please,” Calandriel laughed, “I know how you feel about him. And I know you’re probably upset that he didn’t realize the extent of your efforts to help him. Don’t worry. I sure told him what you did with the spiders, finding Morrigan, and your constant vigilance, _Warden._ ”

Astrid met Calandriel’s eyes and dropped her armful of kindling. She embraced the elf, completely taking Calandriel by surprise. She had a friend, which was comforting if nothing else was at present. 

“I’m sorry,” Astrid said softly. “I was just so worried about Alistair and I just feel like, like he doesn’t take me seriously. And he is so interested in mages and magic, even if he tries to act all templar about it. I think I was a little jealous of your talents.”

Calandriel stepped back, “You have nothing to worry about there.” She hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Did you...did Alistair tell you what happened in Lothering that night?”

“No,” Astrid shook her head, “I just know he went to check if you were still out in the tap room and I must have fallen back asleep.”

Calandriel hesitated. Her night with Zevran wasn’t one of her proudest moments, but why should she be ashamed of seeking the company of her kind in a strange place? She had told Astrid about Cullen. The girl would understand. And she needed to know where Calandriel’s interests were. 

“Well, I met a person that night,” Calandriel said, unsure of how to explain it, the electric and short lived connection with the Antivan.

“I bet I already know who you’re talking about,” Astrid said, raising her eyebrows in excitement, “That blonde elf who was in the tap room! Did you talk to him?” Astrid asked eagerly.

“Well, yes, we did some talking,” Calandriel conceded. 

“Oh? More than talking then?” any remnants of Astrid’s frustration over Calandriel and Alistair had now dissipated. Astrid picked her kindling back up and the two continued to make a circuit around the camp. 

With a frisson of excitement, Calandriel recounted her affair with the assassin. Astrid listened sympathetically and didn’t judge Calandriel as she might have feared.

Astrid looked concerned as Calandriel explained the abrupt ending as the unwelcome presence of Alistair and the Lothering guard had interrupted them.

“So, that, as they say, was that.” Calandriel ended. It was getting to be dusk and Astrid knew she would have to get a fire going soon. She didn’t want to go back and face Alistair or Morrigan just yet. 

“Do you think you’ll ever see him again?” Astrid asked earnestly.

Calandriel shrugged. “I doubt it. I don’t even think I can consider it as love or true passion. It was just...loneliness and desperation...and a good deal of wine that took over me that night.” 

“He was quite handsome, though,” Astrid said with a smirk. “So exciting, despite how it turned out. I wish I could do that.”

“You can!” Calandriel said. “Don’t be a damsel in distress. You hate that. Tell Alistair how you feel! I see you staring at him and sighing all the time and honestly it’s getting old. I told him he needs to apologize to you anyway, so you two need to have a little talk.”

“I don’t know,” Astrid said with a shy smile. “I do not want his esteem of my abilities as a Warden compromised.”

“Oh yes you do,” Calandriel said, now teasing her. “You want him to compromise your virtue all night long!”

Astrid poked Calandriel with a stick and the mage yelped and poked Astrid back with her staff. With peals of laughter resounding, they strode back in toward the center of the camp to rejoin their party.

“The two of you are sounding awfully chipper,” said Alistair, crouching over the firepit. The sun was sinking rapidly, lengthening the shadows in the wood that surrounded them. If they did not build a fire soon, they would become engulfed in total darkness. The ex-templar, however, seemed to be struggling to get any flames going. 

“Here, let us mages worry about that,” said Calandriel, dropping her bundle of sticks beside the firepit and jerking her head toward Morrigan, who was keeping watch at the edge of the camp.

“We have much more efficient ways,” Morrigan nodded, and produced a small flame in her hand, which she easily extinguished. 

“Oh, alright. I suppose I can gather more wood, then.” Alistair stood and brushed off the dried leaves that clung to his breeches. “Astrid… would you care to accompany me?”

The rogue woman felt a tingle of electricity go through her body at the sound of his voice calling her name. “S-sure,” she stammered nervously, avoiding his gaze.  
“Right,” Alistair said brusquely, and then ventured off toward the edge of camp. Astrid followed, and the two of them walked through the trees until they were just far enough from the mages to be out of sight and earshot. 

Astrid bent to pick up promising-looking kindling as they went along in silence. They trudged through the thick underbrush for what seemed like ages, until her arms were totally full of sticks. Still, she could not bring herself to say anything, even to suggest they head back. She just kept picking up more branches.

Finally, Alistair stopped and turned to face her. “Look, I--” he began, just as Astrid simultaneously tried to speak. They each paused, Astrid’s face reddening slightly. “Go ahead,” Alistair said, feeling guilty for having cut her off. 

“I’m… sorry… For the way I reacted before. When you needed healing. I just thought--”

“You have _nothing_ to be sorry about!” Alistair said, stopping her from saying another word. “I’m the one that needs to apologize! You’ve done nothing but be kind to me, help me, take action when I wasn’t willing to. And what you did for me to get that antidote. I owe you my life!” He put a hand on her shoulder as he said it, and she could feel the butterflies returning to her stomach.

“It had to be done,” she mustered, trying to ignore the pleasant melting sensation that now emanated throughout her entire being. “You’re our leader. We couldn’t just let you die. I don’t know what we’d… what _I’d_ do without you.” She gazed up at him now, and their eyes locked.

“Astrid--” said the knight, his hand moving from her shoulder to brush away a lock of golden hair from her face. He took a step closer and her heart fluttered in her chest. 

“Dinner’s almost ready!” came a voice so suddenly, that Astrid jumped and dropped all the sticks she had been clutching until that point. The two of them broke apart as Morrigan appeared. She arched an eyebrow curiously at them. 

Both Alistair and Astrid knelt to hastily pick up the fallen sticks. Their hands touched, and each of them pulled away abruptly. 

Morrigan watched with interest. Having grown up quite isolated in the Wilds, she was not accustomed to such strange behavior. “You’ve been gone a long time. I managed to forage some mushrooms to accompany the pheasant.”

“That sounds delicious,” Astrid said, breathily, as she finished gathering the sticks once again and began to follow Morrigan back to camp. She could feel herself shaking with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

The three of them worked their way back to the clearing where a roaring fire now blazed and the silver-haired elf sat cross-legged beside it, turning the nearly-finished pheasants on a makeshift spit. A small cooking pot boiled below it, emitting a savory, heavily herbed scent. 

“That smells absolutely amazing,” said Alistair as he took in a deep breath. “I just realized I’m starving.”

“Me too,” Astrid agreed and threw down the rest of the kindling they had gathered. She seated herself next to the elf as the others sat down as well. 

“I just hope it tastes as good as it smells,” Calandriel said jovially. “I’m not much of a cook. They kept us well-fed at the Circle. Never really had to learn how to make food except for the basics. Morrigan here seems to know quite a lot, though.”

[ ](http://imgur.com/nDziRzo)

“When you grow up in the middle of nowhere with only your mother for companionship, you learn a lot of skills. Out of complete and utter boredom,” Morrigan said dryly.

“I had to take lessons in cooking,” said Astrid. “And sewing, and dancing, and singing. All the things a proper lady is expected to know how to do.”

“Proper lady? What happened?” Calandriel teased.

“You sing?” Alistair asked enthusiastically. “Would you sing us something now?”

“Ooh, that would be perfect! The food will be ready by the time it takes you to belt one out,” added Calandriel. 

“I could go for some music,” Morrigan chimed in.

“Well, I haven’t practised in a long time--” Astrid muttered.

“I’m sure you have a _beautiful_ voice,” said Alistair, gazing at her from across the fire. She momentarily got lost in the way the flames danced in his eyes.

“Alright, alright, I’ve thought of something,” she said momentarily, snapping out of Alistair’s mesmerizing gaze. She stood up and positioned herself whilst her three companions scooched around the fire to get a better view. Calandriel continued to lazily turn the pheasants on the spit, while Alistair wrapped his arms around his knees and looked encouragingly at Astrid. She coughed and folded her hands behind her back, remembering back to the lessons of her youth. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began:

_Oh, fair damsel of the garden,_  
_Arlessa of honeysuckle and rose,_  
_I humbly beg your gracious pardon_  
_For the offense that here arose._  
_Surely your work is far too vital_  
_To be interrupted by one like me_  
_I am in no way entitled_  
_To earn the notice of a honeybee._  
_I was a fool to pluck that flower_  
_For my lady fair. On my honor I_  
_Swear to bring you dozens more within the hour_  
_If you give me leave to try._  
_Listen traveler, if you would walk the garden paths some spring:_  
_Mind that you don't trespass, for the gardeners do sting.”_

Her voice started off softly and then rose to a soaring soprano as she performed “Meditations and Odes to Bees.” It had been so long since she had last sung anything, and it felt so good to let some emotion out. The last week had been tumultuous, full of ups and downs, anxieties, sadnesses, fears, fights, and new faces. She felt all of it just drift away as the words poured from her mouth and her voice grew more bold as she gained confidence.

When she had finished, applause rang out from the three seated companions, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“That was incredible,” Alistair said, as she took a seat once again near the fire.

“ _Alas’nira!_ ” Calandriel exclaimed in Elvish, now removing the meat from the spit. Morrigan moved to help her serve. 

“I took my turn. Now I expect the rest of you to sing something!” Astrid laughed as she accepted a wooden bowl of mushroom and pheasant stew.

“Be careful what you wish for!” Alistair chuckled. “The only songs I know are dwarven, and the dwarves aren’t exactly known for having a way with words.” Alistair cleared his throat and began to sing in a very off-key half-talking sort of way:

_“Do you like fried mush and nug?_  
I do not like them Mister Klug  
I do not like fried mush and nug 

_Would you eat them on a rug?  
If you eat, you'll get a hug!_

_I would not eat them on a rug  
From you I would not want a hug--”_

“Maker, that’s _enough!_ ” cried Morrigan. “I can’t take any more.”

Everyone had a good laugh as they tucked in to the stew. Each of them felt grateful for the lighthearted evening, after all the trials and tribulations they had been through in the previous days. Alistair felt better for having apologized, and felt unbelievably lucky that they had secured the Warden treaties and were on the right track. Astrid’s spirits were soaring, knowing that she had a good friend in Calandriel and that she and Alistair seemed to be getting along so well. Morrigan was secretly pleased to be hanging out with people her own age, and Calandriel felt at peace, having told Astrid about her encounter with the Antivan. For a time, they all sat in contented silence, devouring the stew and contemplating.

When they had finished and discussed plans for the following morning, it was time to go to bed. Each of them felt comfortably exhausted once full with the hot food. 

“I’ll take the first watch,” Morrigan told them. The Wardens felt a little leery of trusting everything to the newcomer, but considering how much she had helped them already, and how tired each of them were, they did not argue. 

Calandriel crawled sleepily into her tent, as Astrid did the same. Morrigan prowled the edge of camp, too far away to be seen from the dying firelight. Alistair alone remained beside the campfire. Tired as he was, he pulled out the treaties to study them again. They had decided that tomorrow they would figure out which one to pursue first. He read each of them over again, scrutinizing every detail, trying to decipher anything important he might have missed before. It was not long, however, before he drifted off to sleep.

Astrid stood over him, extending a hand to help him up. He took it, feeling confused. Hadn’t he just fallen asleep? The fire had died completely now. The sky was brown, the color of an early dawn. Astrid continued to hold his hand, leading him away from the camp and into the forest. Her golden curls cascaded down her back, a ring of pink and white roses arranged like a crown atop her head. Her dress was a pale pink. He could see himself now, clad in green and white, no longer looking like an ex-templar but instead looking like more of a lord. He too wore a crown of flowers, he noticed. They emerged into a clearing of tall grasses and wildflowers swaying in the wind. Astrid laid him down gently and proceeded to lower herself on top of him. This time, he did not feel his cheeks burn with shame. Instead, he confidently put his hands on her shapely hips and grinned. She too smiled, and leaned downward for a kiss, her hair falling all around him. He lifted his head to meet her lips and then saw that she was laughing and sputtering. What was going on? Weren’t they just having a moment??

He woke up. Around the camp, the three women stood with varying expressions. Calandriel and Morrigan were laughing uproariously. The elf was shaking, trying so very hard to hold it in, whereas Morrigan was much less discreet. Astrid, meanwhile, was giving the both of them a look that was horrified and perplexed.

“What could be so funny at this hour?” Alistair said, squinting at the brightness of the sky. Birds were chirping merrily and it made him want to cut down each and every tree if only it would make them shut up. He couldn’t remember all of his dream yet, but it had made him very groggy and he felt unrested. He hoisted himself into a sitting position and drew up his knees, resting his head between them while his eyes adjusted to the light. 

“Well,” Calandriel began between gasps for air, “it’s just that we’re taking down all our tents and you’ve just pitched one!” She burst into a fit of laughter once again, along with Morrigan. 

“And we really didn’t need any more _wood,_ ” Morrigan added and the two of them doubled over.

Astrid shielded her face with her hands and meandered about in a panicked sort of way, trying to find something to do.

Alistair slowly came to the realization of what they were talking about and opened his eyes. Sure enough, he felt the tightness in his pants and could see a visible bulge. Maker, why me?? he thought, and leapt up. Astrid peeked through her fingers and immediately looked away again. Alistair, despite the blush of embarrassment in his cheeks, decided not to run away. He stepped closer to Calandriel and Morrigan, who each turned from hysterical laughter to a giddy fearfulness until he was only a few paces away. He stood erect (ha!) and then proceeded to snatch the blanket Morrigan had been folding right out of her hands and wrap it around himself to hide his condition. The mages cracked up once again and Astrid heaved a sigh of relief. 

“Now then,” Alistair said calmly, “if we’re all done laughing about my twig and berries, I think we should turn our attention to more important things.”

“Speaking of berries!” Calandriel said cheerily and handed him a bowl. It was filled with juicy purple blackberries and ripe red strawberries that made his mouth water. “Astrid got up early and found these for us. The rest of us already ate, so have at it.”

Sensing that his embarrassing scene had come to an end, and his morning glory subsided, he hungrily devoured the berries and proceeded to help the girls take down the tents and pack up their supplies.


	12. Choose Your Own Adventure, Wardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wardens weigh their options. Will they go to Orzammar? The Brecilian Forest? The Circle Tower? Or pay a visit to the Arl?

At last, when everything was packed, bundled, rolled, tied, washed, or extinguished, it was time to decide where to go. Alistair cleared his throat as he unrolled the treaties for seemingly the thousandth time. 

“Right, so it appears that the dwarves of Orzammar, the Arl of Redcliffe, the mages of the Circle Tower, and,” with a brief glance at Calandriel, “the elves of the Brecilian Forest are all the parties mentioned for us to call upon for aid,” Alistair said, trying to sound as neutral as possible. Clearly one or more of these places meant something to him, but Astrid could not tell which.

“I’d rather avoid those bothersome templars at the Circle Tower if possible,” Morrigan replied right away.

Alistair glared at her, “Those _bothersome_ templars train for years and take protecting the kingdom _quite seriously,_ ” he said, affronted.

Morrigan shot him a quizzical look, “Then why are you here and not back there with them? If they’re so great, how come you--”

“Let’s have another look,” Calandriel interjected, snatching the treaties from Alistair’s clenched fist. “Alright, so it looks like the closest would be to visit the Arl of Redcliffe. It looks like the castle isn’t far from here.” Calandriel said, pointing her finger to some text on the document. 

“It would be good to see the Arl, if he remembered me,” Alistair said, almost under his breath.

“My parents were close with the Arl, so there are two connections there,” Astrid added, looking over to Alistair with a tentative smile.

Calandriel went on, “Orzammar may be a good place to find out more about the Blight, though. The Deep Roads are where the darkspawn are coming from, correct?” Calandriel asked, looking at her companions. “And then,” she swallowed audibly, “there are the elves in the Brecilian Forest. I _may_ have relatives there,” she finished quietly. The party shifted uncomfortably. Most of the time they didn’t talk about her being an elf. She was a mage, and a fellow Warden. The realities of being a mage combined with widespread persecution of elves was not something that was easy or comfortable to talk about. 

“What about the Circle tower?” Astrid asked. “I’m sure it would be easy to get their help, considering your ranking there.”

Calandriel looked uncomfortable all of a sudden. She bit her lip and appeared to be debating with herself on whether or not to speak. 

“What?” said Astrid, regarding her carefully now. 

The elf looked from Astrid to Alistair to Morrigan and heaved a great sigh. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you... The only reason I was permitted to leave the Circle and become a Grey Warden was because of Duncan. He made an agreement with the Knight Commander and First Enchanter that said so long as I stayed with him, I could remain outside the Circle. The order was signed by King Cailan. It was the only thing that could have convinced the Knight Commander to let me leave… But with both of them gone, I will be expected to return.”

Morrigan began to chuckle from where she stood, leaned up against a tree. 

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Calandriel said, glaring at her. 

“So you’re an apostate!” Morrigan said, waving her hands as if to brush it away. “As am I.”

“That doesn’t make it any better, Morrigan,” Alistair said sternly. “This is serious. News has most certainly reached the Circle that Cailan is dead. They’ll have already dispatched templars to hunt her down.”

“They have my phylactery,” Calandriel said, her voice weak and sad. Tears had begun to well in her eyes, though she did not let them fall. 

“Well…” said Alistair, thinking quickly. “They’ll never find you in Orzammar. I do like your idea about getting some information from the dwarves. It seems like the best option and it will buy us some time in avoiding any mage hunters.”

Calandriel sniffed and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill as she nodded. 

“I’ve been on the run for 25 years,” Morrigan added. “The templars haven’t found me yet.” It was the kindest thing she could have said, and Calandriel appreciated it.   
“Has anyone else been there before?” Astrid queried. 

Everyone shook their heads. 

“The dwarves are meticulous record keepers. The Shaperate in Orzammar is known for its detailed recollection of every Blight, every attack.” Alistair explained. He didn’t realize this simple discussion would bring up so much of the past in all of his companions’ eyes. Orzammar seemed like a good choice.

“I’ve always wanted to see a dwarven city!” Astrid said excitedly.

Calandriel sniffed, “Well, alright. We’ll avoid the tower for now. And maybe I can try to send word to the elves to see if my parents or anyone I know is living in the forest before we venture there.” Calandriel had been hopeful to visit the forest, but also anxious about what she might find out. Elves seemed to die so easily everywhere in Ferelden, and she hadn’t heard from her parents since before she left the Circle. She was never made aware of their location for safety purposes.

“ _Anywhere_ is better than Flemeth’s Hut,” Morrigan said, getting up from a squashed pack she had sat down on. “Although you all do talk so much. Can we get going?”

The four shouldered their packs and left the clearing, heading in the direction of the main road.


	13. Lake Calenhad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After deciding that their journey should first take them to Orzammar, the Wardens secure passage across the great lake. It isn't all smooth sailing, though.

“So the quickest way to reach Orzammar will be by boat.” Alistair spoke as they trudged along. “It should take us no more than a couple of days to get to the shore of Lake Calenhad. There we’ll find a fishing village known for its harbor and we can buy passage west to Haven. We can rest there and replenish our supplies before heading north.” 

The group had been silent for some time as they travelled along, all lost in their individual thoughts. Alistair had been going over the plans in his mind for the last few hours. Saying them out loud made them feel much more solid.

“Excellent,” said Astrid. “How do you think the dwarves will respond when we show them the treaty?”

“Not very well, if I know anything about dwarves,” Calandriel scoffed. “Bunch of rude, crude alcoholics they are.”

“Now you’re being just as prejudiced as us ‘shemlens,’ Calan.” said Astrid. “You can’t lump every dwarf into the same category!”

“Alright, alright. I’m being unfair. I guess I’ve never actually met a dwarf now that I think about it,” said the elf. “There’s no such thing as a dwarf mage and you’d certainly never find a dwarf anywhere _near_ a Dalish camp. Historically, our people don’t really get along. Elves worship the moon and stars and dwarves are afraid they’re going to fall up into the sky and die!” She laughed and shook her head at such a ridiculous notion. 

“I think they sound like a fascinating people,” Astrid continued, a wistfulness in her voice. “I’ve read a little about them and their settlements, or _thaigs_. Their cities can last for centuries, their workmanship is so incredible. And no weapons are finer than those of dwarven make.”

“King Cailan had a dragon-bone blade crafted by the dwarves. It was passed down to him from the great King Maric. I saw it a few times,” said Alistair. “They said it was enchanted and would glow blue when darkspawn were near. It certainly had a lot of runes set in it from what I could see. The legend goes that Maric found it in the Deep Roads. I wonder what’s become of it?” 

“No doubt a treasure like that would not last long unguarded,” said Morrigan matter-of-factly. “It’s probably in the hands of some boorish thief, on its way to the Black Emporium.” She was never one to sugarcoat things.

At that, the group fell silent once more and continued their journey. For two days they travelled westward, meandering through forests which soon turned to swamps and marshes. On the second day, it rained for much of the afternoon, slowing their progress, and making everyone miserable. Cool winds from the lake drove the rain sideways and felt like a slap in the face. Finally, they reached the fishing village, much to everyone’s great relief. 

That night, they stayed at the only inn in the small village. It did not have a large common room like the one in Lothering, and the rooms were much smaller. With the cold gnawing at their bones, they each went to sleep rather quickly. 

The next morning, Alistair was the first to arise. He immediately made his way down to the pier to arrange for their passage across the lake. The harbor was teeming with vessels of various sizes, upon which stood shouting men, and further in the distance, he could see nets being cast out from many of the boats. He squinted past them and could not see the shore on the other side, though if it was because of the distance or the overcast sky, he couldn’t tell. 

Alistair approached one of the men on the docks and inquired about crossing. The man eagerly began explaining his rates in a hushed tone. Despite his attempt at being discreet, other men began to crowd around, and before the knight knew it, he was surrounded by boatmen thrusting offers at him. It seemed the Blight had been bad for business. He accepted the cheapest offer, much to the dismay of the others, and feeling satisfied with himself, he decided to spend some of the money he’d saved in the transaction on a hearty breakfast. Along the docks were a few food stalls where he was able to purchase some savory salmon crepes, which he took back to the inn. 

The women were all awake and mostly feeling refreshed, but their faces lit up at the sight and smell of the salmon. They each savored the smokey flavor as Alistair told them about the boat rental and that they would all have to be ready to leave within the hour. 

Finally, the four of them stood together on the docks while the boatman prepared his vessel. It looked sturdy enough, though perhaps not as well maintained as some of the others with their bright paint and ornately carved figureheads. This one was rather plain, and its figurehead had just enough detail for them to be able to make out the head of a dragon. Age had worn away the finer details, but there was no mistaking the sharp fangs or the tongue that curled like a ribbon out of its mouth. The sail was a faded blue and appeared to be tattered in places. 

“Time to shove off!” said the boatman. He peered at them all through his bright blue eye. The other was white with blindness. “In you go now, ladies.” He hopped into the boat with surprising agility for a man of his age and held out his hand to assist. Alistair quickly did the same, taking Astrid’s hand in his as she lowered herself into the boat. Each of them felt a tingle, but said nothing as they seated themselves. The boat was rather cramped, so they had to sit two to a bench. The boatman occupied the center, where there was an oar on either side of him, while the two mages sat up front. Alistair and Astrid squashed together at the stern. 

Alistair peered out at the nothingness ahead of them. It was still very early and a thick fog hung about the cold air, making it difficult for him to even see past the boatman’s stringy white hair. He shivered and suddenly began questioning whether or not this was a good idea. “Are you sure we should be setting out in this mist?” he asked. 

The boatman had already pushed off with an oar and began to cackle. Without looking back, he spoke. “I been sailin’ this lake since before ye were born! Practically since the day I was born, come to think!” He laughed again. “That’s how I lost me eye. Me father took me out on a fishin’ trip when I was just a little lad. Fell in the water and nearly drowned, the current was so strong. Hit me head on a rock that took me eye out. Aye, there’s been a lot o’ close calls in these waters, but the Maker don’t want me to die! I know it like the back o’ me hand!”

“That’s… reassuring,” said Alistair, noting that the old man was missing a finger from his left hand. 

“Don’t ye be worryin’ about nothin’, a young strappin’ lad like yerself! With a boat full o’ beautiful ladies to boot!” The old man cackled again as he rowed. 

“Watch your tongue,” Morrigan said testily. 

“Ahh, I don’t mean nothin’ by it, beggin’ yer pardon, miss. Old Wilhelm’s got himself a wife back home… And ten beau’iful children. For’y-seven grandchildren and one great-grandchild on the way.”

“Blessed by Elgar’nan,” Calandriel turned back and smiled. 

“That’s an elven god, innit?” The old man squinted. 

“Yes, the god of fatherhood… and vengeance.” said the elf. 

“Well, hopefully there won’t be no _vengeance_ on this voyage!” laughed Wilhelm. For being so ancient, he was certainly merry. 

“Exactly how long will this voyage be?” Astrid asked.

“I reckon if this fog lets up, we’ll be reachin’ the other side by nightfall, miss.” said the old man. 

“And do you really intend to row the whole way yourself?” said Astrid, ever inquisitive. 

Despite the man’s skeletal frame, there was no denying that his arms were quite massive. “That’s what they pay me for, my lady,” he laughed again. 

The first few hours of their journey passed by relatively uneventfully. True to his word, Old Wilhelm really did seem to know the waters as if he had been born and raised in them and never set foot on land. Despite being blind in one eye and the heaviness of the fog, he navigated the lake with ease. He even began to sing after a while; a mix of sea shanties, fisherman’s tales, and a particularly bawdy number about the Pirate Queen of the Eastern Seas. After a while, it had begun to rain again; a cold, chilling downpour that made them draw up the hoods of their cloaks and huddle together for warmth. 

“This is getting ridiculous!” Calandriel said through chattering teeth. “How about a warming spell?”

“I wouldn’t recommend usin’ no magic on this here lake,” Wilhelm said. “Veil’s thin, ya see. Though most mages can’t detect it.”

“And how would _you_ know?” Morrigan said, haughtily. “I would think those of us with magical power would be able to sense a thin Veil.”

“I seen the consequences of it firsthand, miss. You ain’t the first magical folk Old Wilhelm’s taken across Calenhad. Ya know how many students escape the Circle tower up north and wind up in me boat? Conjurin’ spirits and demons the likes o’ which ya can’t even imagine!”

Calandriel shivered, thinking of the stories she’d heard back at the tower about mages running away. She had never known anyone to do it, but everyone had a tale to tell about what kind of sadistic punishments the templars would inflict if they caught an escapee. _At least Cullen would never do any of those things,_ she thought, staring off to the north. 

Over time, the rain began to fall harder, and the sky darkened. The boat tipped and churned precariously over every wave, though Wilhelm did not seem perturbed. Thunder began to rumble in the clouds above them and lightning split the sky. The old man continued rowing, adjusting the sail when he deemed it necessary, and cutting through the choppy water without much effort. 

Astrid found herself pressed up against Alistair for warmth as well as comfort. She liked storms usually, especially watching them from the windows of her parents’ estate, but this was different. This was terrifying. If the boat tipped, they would likely drown, unless by some miracle another one came along to rescue them. Alistair, feeling much the same as his companion, put his arm around her. 

Calandriel meanwhile was trying not to be sick. She’d never spent time in a boat before and the constant pitching back and forth made her want to throw up. But just as she was about ready to lose her breakfast, the rain let up slightly and the waters calmed. Old Wilhelm relaxed his rowing and the boat glided easily through the water. Eventually, the rain stopped altogether and was replaced by a cool wind from behind them that actually sped their progress. In addition, the fog had finally cleared enough for them to be able to see what lie ahead. 

“I can see the shore!” Calandriel exclaimed excitedly, turning back to her companions. Astrid and Alistair quickly broke apart from one another. 

“Aye, we’re almost there! Though the storm blew us a little more southward than I’d have liked,” said the grisled old man. “That’ll set us back a couple o’ hours, but I’ll have ye at Haven in no time!”

Shortly after the clouds had parted, the sun set in a blaze of copper and gold. The sky shifted to inky black and glittered with stars. There was no need for a torch on account of the brightness of the moon, and they probably wouldn’t have been able to light one anyway after the torrent of the storm. Each of them quieted to a peaceful calm as the shore got closer and closer. 

Wilhelm guided them towards the channel that would take them to Haven, eventually reaching its mouth. It was a great tributary that flowed into the lake but after a while narrowed to a small river. At one time it had probably been a bustling trade route, much like Lothering, but now it was mostly marshland and uninhabitable. Word had it that Haven was the only town for miles. Between the treacherousness of the Frostbacks and the fact that there was very little farmable land, it was not hard to see why. 

Eventually, they reached Haven’s harbor. It was small compared to the fishing village and was not occupied by any people. Calandriel nearly fell over in her effort to get out of the boat. “It feels so good to just stand!” she said, stretching. “But I still feel like my insides are moving!”

“That’ll wear off soon,” said Wilhelm with a toothless grin. “After a hot meal and a good night’s rest!” He tied up his boat and pointed off in the direction of the town. “There’s only one inn in Haven. It’s located right next to the pub. They make the best damn ale I ever had!” 

“Will you be staying there as well?” Alistair inquired. “You’ve been so helpful, and I feel I owe you more than what I paid for the trip. We could pay for your room--”

The old man cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Nonsense, young fella! I don’t need no coin. We had an agreement and I did what I set out to do.”

“At least let me give you some coin to take back to your wife and children,” Alistair pleaded.

The old man paused and then walked over to Alistair, attempting to straighten his bony back, although such a thing was not possible. Decades of hunching in a boat had left him with a curved spine. He eyed Alistair carefully and then spoke. “D’ya really think this ferryman business is the only thing keepin’ me family afloat? No pun intended,” he added with a chuckle. “I told ya I got ten children. One o’ my sons is in charge o’ the whole fishing village. Me eldest daughter is the Revered Mother o’ the Chantry. I got a daughter in Val Royeaux and one in Denerim. Not one o’ my children’s in need o’ coin, and they all take care of their dear old dad!”

“But then why even take people across the lake?” Astrid asked.

“Everyone’s got to have a hobby,” the old man said. “And besides, how else am I supposed to get to the pub? Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s an ice cold mug o’ ale with ‘Old Wilhelm’ written on it. Pleasure doin’ business with ya!” He bowed to the women and then hobbled off, leaving them all a little speechless. 

“Come on,” Alistair said. “Let’s get some rest.” They each picked up their packs from inside the boat and headed toward the inn.


	14. Attack!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise visit from an old friend.

“I can’t even think about food. I can hardly walk,” Calandriel murmured. The four felt unsettled and lethargic after not using their legs all day. The elf could see Old Wilhelm walking up a hill toward the village, but otherwise no one else was in sight. None of them had ever been to Haven, and they were unsure what to expect. Calandriel hoped they were friendlier here than in Lothering. 

“I really can’t even recall the last time I was on a boat,” Astrid said congenially.

“That was my first time and it had better be my last,” Calandriel said, shaking her head.

Morrigan raised her eyebrows, “That makes two of us losing our seafaring virginity,” she said, much to the amusement of the Wardens. Suddenly, an enchanted bolt whizzed past Calandriel’s ear, mid-laugh. 

“Enemies approaching!” Astrid called out. 

The small party was encumbered by their packs. Furthermore, the seasickness had left them unaware of their new surroundings. 

Fumbling for her daggers underneath the satchel on her back, Astrid’s brown eyes darted here and there looking for the source of the projectile.

Alistair’s sword was drawn as he charged ahead toward the village.

Calandriel and Morrigan dropped their packs and brandished their staves. The elf could see someone crouched behind some barrels the next dock over. She sent a sizzling bolt of energy toward them. She missed, but one of the barrels exploded into hundreds of wooden shards, and the attacker ran further away. 

Astrid chased after Alistair, having finally managed to free her daggers. The arrows and bolts seemed to be showering them from all directions, yet she could not see the attackers at all. 

Calandriel and Morrigan chased after the mysterious attacker near the docks. Calandriel was light on her feet and quickly gained on the crossbow wielder. She could not tell the gender of the person from behind. Calandriel was cut short as she felt a searing pain in the back of her left knee. She crumpled to the ground. Morrigan caught up to her, unsure of what to do. They were in plain sight. She did not want to leave Calandriel, but she had quite a few destructive spells up her sleeve that she was itching to unleash on their attackers. 

Alistair and Astrid were back to back fighting against two bandits, or whatever they were. Alistair’s attacker anticipated his every move, and if it weren’t for Alistair’s heavy armor, he would be carved like a spit of lamb. Astrid swept and swirled her daggers, but noted many cuts on her arms from her opponent, also wielding a dagger. There were still arrows flying toward she and Alistair from further away as they continued to fight. Suddenly, they heard a high pitched scream from the direction of the docks. Astrid risked a glance away and saw Calandriel on the ground, Morrigan crouched near her. 

“Cease! Cease fire!” Astrid heard an accented male voice call out. She and Alistair’s opponents immediately sheathed their weapons and ran in the direction of the voice. Astrid worried at a gash on her forearm for an instant before she strode down to see Calandriel. 

Calandriel writhed on the damp ground near the dock. The bolt had gone into the tender flesh behind her knee, through the layers of her cloak. It hurt for Morrigan to even touch the bolt. Calandriel looked up as she heard a familiar voice yelling up near the village. She saw a blonde figure running down the hill toward her, holding out his arms as he cried out, 

“Cease fire!”

Calandriel squinted her silver eyes. Could it be?

“Zevran?” she whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear her. 

“What’s this all about, Zevran?” a female voice called after him as she followed him down the hill. She was the bandit Astrid had fought. The bandits, the Wardens, and Morrigan formed a tense semicircle around Calandriel. 

Astrid was surprised to see the elf from Lothering, Zevran. Perhaps he had been a spy and had gotten some information during his night with Calandriel. 

“I know this woman,” Zevran said to his companion.

Alistair, who had joined the group, sword still drawn, asked, “Who are you? All of you?? Are you with them?” he nodded from Zevran to the rest of the attackers, eight all together. 

The woman who had been fighting Astrid said, “We are the Antivan Crows, and ours are the last faces you shall ever see, Warden!”. She spat on the ground in punctuation.

“Carlota, we cannot kill them,” Zevran said in his Antivan accent as he joined Morrigan, kneeling near Calandriel.

“Whyever not?” the woman, Carlota, responded. “You know the penalty for breaking a contract. Especially one like this.”

“Contract?!” Alistair said, butting in. “Someone hired you to kill us? Who? Why?”

“Our companion is HURT!” Morrigan shouted, trying to get a word in.

“Good! One less to worry about,” Carlota said as she drew up her dagger again, waving it in an arc from left to right. 

Zevran stood up. 

“I refuse,” he said, facing Carlota. “If you all kill these people, you shall have to kill me, as well, but you know how that will turn out,” Zevran said lightly.

“You _know_ them, do you?” Carlota sneered. “You shame we Crows. You make a grave mistake, Zevran Arainai.”

Carlota lunged toward him, and at that, the melee resumed, the fighters dancing around Calandriel as she lay unconscious on the ground. 

The Antivan elf, Zevran, seemingly turned on his fellows and threw knives this way and that. He was an incredibly quick and skilled fighter. Astrid rushed toward her dagger wielding rival, Carlota, and gave her a powerful kick in the stomach. 

The Antivan Crows, confused at Zevran’s betrayal, hesitated in fighting him initially. That was their mistake.

Together, Astrid, Alistair, Zevran, and Morrigan pursued each Antivan Crow until none stood standing. When the fight was over, suddenly Alistair swung the tip of his sword to Zevran’s throat. Astrid gasped, having just felt relief at the end of a battle. 

“Who sent you?” Alistair said, glaring at Zevran.

“My friend, it has been some time? I realize we got off on the wrong foot in Lothering, but now,” Zevran chatted amicably. If his life was being threatened, one certainly wouldn’t know it by listening to him.

Alistair poked the sword into the elf’s skin, not yet drawing blood.

“Who sent you?” Alistair’s voice was steel. Astrid had gotten so used to seeing his smile that she had forgotten how fierce he could be. 

“Do you not believe that I am no longer a Crow?” Zevran said. “I shall tell you, but let it be in a more civil fashion. Let us speak as comrades, no?”

Astrid put a tentative hand on Alistair’s forearm.

“I think he’s telling the truth. He’s on our side now.” Astrid said.

“Well he was on the Crows’ side and look how quickly he left them. How do you know we can trust him?” Alistair said.

“Why don’t you hear what he has to say and _then_ kill him,” Morrigan said lightly, as if they were discussing dinner plans. She breezed past them and strode purposefully toward Calandriel, who still lay on the ground in pain.

Alistair slowly lowered his sword. 

Needing no further prompt, Zevran began.

“We Crows, or the Antivan Crows I shall say, are the best assassins in all of Thedas. From near to far we are revered for our quick--”

Astrid interrupted, “Well, it seems the best could not beat us. Not without their leader, apparently.”

Zevran held his hands up, “I suppose I am no longer a Crow, yes. But we received a very sizeable contract from Captain Loghain Mac Tir just a few days ago. He told us a small band of Grey Wardens would be traveling in Ferelden and would we find them. I did not realize that my lovely friend would be among the party,” He spoke matter of factly, seemingly untroubled at the deaths of the Crows.

_One probably has to be pretty tough to be a professional assassin, though,_ Astrid thought. 

Alistair shook his head, incredulous.

“So Loghain’s after us. And you broke his contract and turned on all of the Crows for, for someone you had a one night stand with? Now Loghain will be after us. I can’t even begin to understand you,” Alistair said, trying to keep calm.

“Ah, but you do not know love at first sight. I must go see to the lady,” Zevran said and followed Morrigan.

Now that the main source of danger had passed, Morrigan could begin healing Calandriel. She gingerly probed the bolt again and Calandriel winced, tensing up her leg, which only made the pain smart even more. 

“Please relax, Calandriel. You know it will be easier to heal once I get it out of your leg.” Morrigan said in a tone caught between annoyance and care.

Zevran knelt beside Calandriel and took her hand.

“My lovely moon flower. I am so sorry for this.”

Calandriel opened her silver eyes and saw Zevran’s eyes beaming down at her, the color of mahogany. His silken blonde hair fell into his face. Despite the wrenching pain, she felt warm in her stomach at the sight of him. She instantly recalled the last time she had seen him and her eyes lingered on his lips. _But hadn’t he..._

“How could you? Were you always going to attack us?” Calandriel said, meaning to sound menacing, but her voice was barely audible.

Zevran shook his head, “I did not know it was you, my dear. I received an order that did not give names. I tried to stop my party once I saw you hurt, recognizing the sweet goddess of an elf I knew in Lothering. Forgive me, please?”

Clearly he had no problem being sentimental in front of strangers. Astrid looked at Alistair with a raised eyebrow. He simply shrugged back at her. Meanwhile, Morrigan had successfully removed the bolt. Zevran’s presence had relaxed Calandriel substantially. They still needed to bandage her and find a place to rest for the night. Calandriel had lost a lot of blood, and there were still many unanswered questions.

Calandriel attempted to sit up, but the wound in her leg was still grievous, despite some healing from Morrigan. She inhaled sharply at the pain. 

Zevran moved with the agility of a halla to help her up, but Alistair stopped him. “No fast movements,” he said. “I want to be able to see you at all times.”

“You do not trust me,” Zevran said with a directness in his voice. “That is understandable. But I assure you, my fate now rests within your hands, Grey Warden. I cannot go back to the Crows, nor do I wish to. It would mean certain death. The only way to escape such a fate is to join up with someone who could give the Crows pause. And clearly,” he glanced around at the assassins’ bodies that surrounded them, “you are quite capable of that.” He knelt down and extended a hand to Calandriel. “I am your man.”

Alistair sighed frustratedly as Calandriel took the elf’s hand and allowed him to help her up. “Well, what are we going to do about all these bodies?”

“Let’s just say they were bandits about to raid the village, and we stopped them.” Astrid said. 

“I am shocked, Lady Cousland!” Morrigan said, idly putting a hand to the ornate necklace around her throat. 

“What?” Astrid said, suddenly feeling a little guilty.

“I didn’t know you were such a devious liar, is all.” Morrigan’s laugh was like velvet. “They’ll probably herald us as the heroes of Haven for it too!” 

But that was not the case. The five of them climbed the hill toward the village, Calandriel being propped up by their new companion. They entered the inn, which was quite deserted save for a few seedy-looking fellows who were warming themselves beside a low fire. The Maker only knew where Old Wilhelm had ambled off to.  
The innkeeper eyed them suspiciously. “You the folk causing all the commotion out there? Whatever your business is in Haven, we don’t want it here.” 

“But our companion is _hurt_!” Astrid said, waving at Calandriel, who was on the verge of collapsing once again.

“Well, that’s not my problem, is it?” the innkeeper said. “That’s just one less knife-ear to worry about.” At that, he turned his back on them. 

In what seemed like a split second, Zevran had managed to jump over the bar and put a knife to the innkeeper’s throat. He pressed the blade into the man’s skin, just enough to draw blood, but not really hurt him. The assassin’s control was something to marvel at. He spun the man back around so that he was facing the group. “Do you wish to say that again?” He whispered in the man’s ear, a demonic golden glint flashing in his eyes. 

The group of men who had previously been sitting beside the hearth stood up suddenly, knocking a chair over. There were five of them, each armed with crude knives and short swords, which they brandished menacingly. 

“Kill me if you want,” the innkeeper said. “It doesn’t make any difference. The darkspawn are coming for us, anyway. Haven’s got nothing left.”

Zevran looked to Calandriel, who was now slumped to the floor and was looking even more pale than her usual ivory. 

“This man has insulted your honor. Do you wish me to kill him?” Zevran asked. 

The innkeeper stared down at Calandriel, his face devoid of emotion. It seemed he had accepted his fate. “No…” Calandriel managed after a moment. “His only crime is his ignorance. Let the darkspawn take him.” She struggled to stand again, but could not get up.

Hesitantly, Zevran pulled the knife away and watched as the rough-looking men on the other side of the room seemed to back off. He kicked the innkeeper hard with the sole of his tall leather boot and leapt back over the bar, hoisting Calandriel up once again. 

They backed out of the inn, taking care not to turn around and leave themselves vulnerable. 

“Now what are we going to do?” Astrid said, hopelessly. “We had him in our grasp. We could have stayed there.”

“Yes, but he probably would have sent his cronies to smother us in our sleep. Or poison our food.” Alistair said. 

“Now you are thinking like an assassin!” Zevran said with a smile.

“We can still make camp,” Morrigan said. Having lived her entire life in the Wilds, staying in an inn seemed strange to her anyway. “And we’ll have to do it soon. I can only heal the wound so that it closes and will not leave a scar. Only rest can help the blood loss and pain.” 

“Right,” said Alistair. “We’ll go just far enough to get out of this hostile village and then we can make camp.”

As they spoke, Calandriel’s eyes closed and she began slipping out of the elven rogue’s grasp. He quickly caught her as she passed out and lifted her up so that he was now carrying her in both arms. 

“Let’s go,” said Astrid, and the five of them headed north.

[ ](http://imgur.com/MrEofeh)


	15. Heating Up at the Frostbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS WHERE THINGS GET REALLY JUICY!!!! If you only read fanfictions for the saucy sex scenes, this is your chapter!

They traveled only a short distance--a few miles at the most--before deeming it safe enough to stop and make camp. They abandoned the main road in favor of more challenging terrain, in the hopes that it would keep their position a secret. After a while, the trees grew so thick and close together that they could no longer see the Frostback Mountains to their west, despite the brightness of the moon above. 

After meandering through the thick underbrush for some time, and stopping to fill their waterskins at a stream, they came upon a clearing big enough to set up their equipment. Morrigan lit the end of her staff with a flame spell and dug it into the ground like a torch to help them see what they were doing. 

Astrid watched as Zevran laid Calandriel down with surprising gentleness. For being a cold-hearted killer, he was unbelievably compassionate now, his face wrought with worry. She then looked to Calandriel, who appeared to be fitfully dreaming. Astrid suddenly felt very helpless. Morrigan could channel healing magic with the palm of her hand, Zevran was a fierce protector, and Alistair was the leader of them all. What could she do to help her fallen friend? She watched the two elves for a moment before getting an idea. She began rummaging through her pack and pulled out some dried elfroot. “I’ll be right back,” she said. 

“You’re not going far, are you?” Alistair inquired. “Do be careful!”

“I’ll just be a shout away!” With that, she ventured off a few paces into the trees, searching the underbrush. It was difficult at first until her eyes adjusted from the bright torchlight back to the moonlight again. _I thought I saw some here along the way,_ she thought. _Aha!_ All along the forest floor, delicate white flowers bloomed. _Moonflowers._ Known for their calming and soothing properties, they would make for a fine tea. She plucked a dozen or so of the white flowers and then proceeded back to camp. 

Zevran was still fawning over Calandriel, she could see. “Um, could I get something out of Calan’s pack?”

“Why of course, my buxom new friend!” the rogue said, giving her a penetrating look. 

Astrid stared at him reproachfully and then proceeded to rifle through the bag. She pulled out the ceramic teapot, the same one she and Calandriel had drank from at Ostagar. The memory seemed so long ago now. 

While the others continued busying themselves with setting up, Astrid started a proper fire with the ample kindling that lined the campsite. She filled the teapot with some of the water they had harvested earlier and dumped in the dried elfroot and the moonflowers. “Uhh, Zevran?” she said. “Could you reach into that pack again and find the cups?”

“With pleasure!” exclaimed the rogue. “What else might I find in here? Some unmentionables perhaps?” He began digging through the bag and then produced two small, matching teacups and handed them to Astrid.

When the tea was done, she filled a cup and brought it to her companion. “Calandriel?” she said, prodding the elven woman gently. She held the cup close to her face, the aroma wafting into her nostrils. 

Calandriel sniffed, blinked, and then slowly opened her eyes. “For me?” She smiled dreamily and began to sit up. Astrid set the tea down to help her and then handed it over. Calandriel took it gratefully and sipped. She felt an instant wash of comfort radiate through her body at the taste of it; so fine, with a subtle hint of sweetness. “Is that… moonflower?”

“I got the idea from Zevran, actually, when he called you that.” Astrid smiled, happy to see that her friend was already beginning to feel better. 

“Zevran… That’s right!” the elf said, glancing around. Alistair had seated himself beside the fire across from them. Morrigan was boiling up some potatoes. Astrid knelt next to her, and on her other side was the rogue. “I was having such strange dreams,” she said, clutching at her head. “Zevran, you were fighting off some bandits that were trying to kill me. You had these great knee-high leather boots on. But that was… all you were wearing.” 

“Oh, Maker,” Alistair muttered as Zevran threw his head back and laughed heartily. When he had stopped, he said very seriously, “I can make that dream a reality, if you’d like.”

“Dinner is almost ready,” Morrigan said. “It’s not much, but we’re running a bit low on supplies.” When it was fully prepared, they each took some dried sausage and potatoes and began to eat. 

“Gherlen’s Pass isn’t too far from here. We may not have had much luck in Haven, but we’ll no doubt be able to replenish ourselves at the Pass.” Alistair said, gnawing on a hard piece of sausage. “There’s a whole market of surface dwarves there. They thrive on selling to travellers. They don’t mind contact with us big folk like the underground dwarves do.”

“Perfect. We’ll leave as soon as you’re well, Calandriel,” said Astrid kindly. 

“I should be fine by tomorrow,” the elf said, taking another sip of tea. “I still feel sore, though I don’t feel like I’m going to pass out again.”

“Let me help you with that,” Zevran said silkily. “I have been told I am a master masseuse!” 

Calandriel finished her tea and pulled her long silvery hair forward so as to expose her shoulders. Zevran knelt behind her, as close as he physically could be, and began to massage her tense muscles while pressing himself up against her. She closed her eyes, a look of pure ecstasy on her face. 

Alistair rolled his eyes and finished devouring his dinner. He stood up and assessed the camp. “Thank you for the lovely dinner, Morrigan. Astrid, would you… care to help me with these dishes at the stream?”

Astrid, thankful for an excuse to leave the two elves to their relaxation, stood, grabbed their pots and plates, and followed the knight. Morrigan crawled into her tent as the two of them worked their way through the trees. 

When they reached the stream, Astrid knelt down and began submerging the dishes in the swiftly flowing water. The stream was not very wide, but deep enough that one could sit down in it and have the water come up to their navel. She suddenly wanted very much to bathe in its cool, rushing waters. It was quite lovely here, with moonflowers dotting the forest floor and grey moths floating in and out of the shafts of moonlight that streaked between the trees.

“Do you really think this Zevran fellow is a good idea? I don’t trust him one bit,” Alistair said after a while. He scoured the cookpot in his hand and stared off into the distance. 

“I’m suspicious of him too, but… he seems quite taken with Calandriel,” Astrid said, searching for justification. 

“And anything else that moves,” Alistair said bitterly. “ I heard what he said earlier. And the way he… looked at you.” 

“Do you have a problem with other men looking at me?” Astrid said, now dropping the plate she had been washing back into the water and stood, looking directly at him. 

“Well, I--I…” he stammered, and stood also. “To be honest, yes. You are so…” He hesitated, gazing at the way her hair caught the moonlight, the shadows caressing the shape of her lips, the intense fire in her eyes. “Beautiful,” he finished. “You’re just so beautiful, I can’t bear to think of you with someone else.” With that, he took a step closer and took both of her hands in his own and leaned in until there was no more room between them, and then he kissed her.

[](http://imgur.com/Ut3PdRK)

His lips were so soft, his breath sweet. Astrid felt her knees go weak and her heart pound in her chest. She felt exhilarated. She had been dreaming of this moment for some time now, and it was more perfect than she ever could have imagined. They kissed for what felt like an eternity and then finally broke apart, each of them smiling shyly. Astrid put her arms around Alistair and rested her head against his chest. His heart was beating quickly too, she noticed.

She couldn’t believe she was so close to Alistair. She felt she knew the details of his figure, well most of it anyway. But to feel him, to actually be touching his solid back and be enveloped in his arms? This was something new entirely. Her mind was racing other places. Now that they had kissed, what would happen next? As if in response to her thoughts, Alistair softly said,

“It feels so perfect here with you near the water. I’m not ready to go back up yet. Is it alright if we stay here for a while?” 

Astrid felt his voice vibrate in his chest. She squeezed him tighter in response. The two stood in contented silence at the stream’s edge.

* * *

Morrigan squeezed her golden eyes shut, as if closing them would cancel out the noise her companions made. Alistair always seemed to be stomping in his metal boots, practically asking for enemies to find them. Astrid was slightly lighter in her step, but the dishes clanked in her arms as the two walked down to the river. It was too saccharine for Morrigan to bear, looking at those two sometimes. She admired Calandriel as a fellow woodlander, but it seemed that now the elf was just as infatuated as the other two. In perfect timing, she heard the Antivan begin singing from the next tent over. Apparently lust made everyone foolhardy. A hot tear of anger seeped from the corner of Morrigan’s closed eye. She missed her mother, Flemeth. She hated her mother, Flemeth. She could never go back, and the Wardens would never understand. Flemeth, along with the creatures of the Korcari Wilds was virtually the only company she had ever had, yet she felt lonelier than ever. It was a vile emotion. She could _almost_ see why they made friends and paired up, but she knew better.

If there was one thing Morrigan hated more than Flemeth, though, it was the darkspawn. She had seen hundreds of times how the creatures destroyed everything in their path. Whatever they didn’t directly kill or cut down, they tainted with their revolting fungal growths. As obnoxious as her companions could be, they had a true cause. And Morrigan had gotten out of the Wilds at last. It still felt like a lonely path, but at least she wasn’t hiding in the hut anymore, waiting for Flemeth to -- waiting for Flemeth’s plans. Morrigan finally drifted off into a light sleep.

* * *

“Oh what a melancholy song,” Calandriel said softly after Zevran had finished singing a ballad about two cursed Antivan lovers. She took another sip of the moonflower and elfroot tea Astrid had brewed for her. Dinner, tea, and finally rest had her feeling much better than she had at the inn in Haven. Morrigan had healed her leg to the best of her ability. Calandriel still felt a dull ache beneath the bandage wrapped tightly around her knee. 

“Melancholy, I suppose. But a love song all the same. It is a favorite back at home,” Zevran said softly. His singing voice was a sweet tenor. Calandriel wondered if he had ever spent time as a bard in Antiva. It wasn’t at all uncommon for a bard to pick up some “side work” from time to time in Ferelden and Orlais. 

“It was lovely,” Calandriel said. “But you still haven’t told me everything. I never thought I would see you again, you know.” She was laying down in her tent on a bedroll. Zevran had ensured that her pillows were plumped and that she wanted for nothing. He sat cross legged just across from her, sharpening his knife. 

“After our last encounter, I most definitely wished to see you again,” Zevran laughed, raising his shapely eyebrows up and down. “And touch you, and hear your voice, and taste you, my sweetness.” Calandriel flushed. She wondered what her companions thought of her. She didn’t know what had come over her in Lothering, why she had been so forward with Zevran. He was like a magnet she could not resist. 

“Zevran, be serious. We barely know each other. Just tell me what Loghain told you. I know that my companions still don’t trust you. I know _I_ shouldn’t trust you, but you are too handsome for your own good, you know,” Calandriel teased. She had very slowly worked herself up to a seated position. 

The smile vanished from the Antivan’s full lips and he set his knife down. “I was the leader of a band of the Crows. Loghain had heard of the… work that I’ve done and sent me word to meet with him. I care little of the politics of Ferelden, my dear. He simply told me that one of the Grey Wardens in particular poses a threat to him, and that we needed to eliminate any we found in Ferelden. When I encountered you and your mates in Lothering, I thought you were in the King’s employ or mercenaries of some kind. You don’t quite have the look of a refugee, Calandriel.” Zevran touched her nose playfully. “Anyway, tonight in Haven, my companions began the attack before I realized that you had been on the list as a Warden. Loghain’s intelligencers do not miss a trick. I just followed the contract’s orders. Oh, my sweet, I am so sorry.” 

Calandriel shook her head, “I understand. These are dangerous times, Zevran. What I wonder, though, is which Grey Warden Loghain is having trouble with. After Ostagar, so few of us survived. I just wonder if it’s possible that he’s after Astrid for her noble birth, or Alistair, for some reason. I cannot imagine what he would want with me,” Calandriel snorted and gave a mirthless laugh until the motion pained her leg and she was forced to stop. 

Immediately sensing her pain, Zevran climbed over to Calandriel. He laid one tan hand on her shoulder, bracing her, as he stroked her petal soft cheek in the other.

“I wish I had answers for you, Calandriel,” Zevran said, relishing her name on his tongue. He truly knew her name now. “Alas, those of us whose loyalty can be bought and sold are not given very important facts for that very reason.” He smirked at her. “Now, my angel, is there anything else I might do to ensure your _comfort_?”

Calandriel did not miss the note his voice had taken. His voice, always sensual, now hinted at the same urgency she remembered from that fated night in Lothering. 

“Zevran, we can’t, _I_ can’t,” Calandriel whispered as she touched her fair forehead to his golden one. 

“We can’t what? I have not even said anything!” he giggled in mock innocence. “I promise I will not hurt you,” his warm breath tickled Calandriel’s slender pointed ear. She pulled back from his face.

“What will they think of us?” Calandriel asked, knowing that it sounded lame even as she spoke it. 

Zevran looked at her with a shocking intensity. “There is just you and I. Shh, my shining star,” and before Calandriel could protest further, Zevran’s lips were on hers. She inhaled a heady whiff of the Bergamot in his hair. She was startled at the urgency of his kiss, his tongue delving, coaxing her mouth to bloom open. After a few dizzying swirls of Zevran’s kiss, he left her mouth and trailed towards her right ear, leaving rosebud kisses in his wake. 

“You have had too much pain today, my Calan, let me now bring you pleasure,” Zevran whispered hotly. Calandriel was overcome with the same feeling she had felt in the Lothering alley that night. She could no longer resist. The wound in her knee trailed to the back of her mind as other sensations rushed to the fore. Zevran wrapped his arms around her and gently laid her down. He knelt to the side still, but supported himself by placing an arm on either side of Calandriel’s head. He lowered his head down, gossamer strands of his hair brushing her cheeks. Zevran gave her another kiss on the lips, this one short but sweet. He kissed her chin, and then her neck, his tongue emerging. He suckled on the base of her neck and Calandriel thought she might cry out. He continued to her clavicle, gently tracing a finger along the elegant bone.

He was met by the collar of her robes. 

“I have always wondered,” he whispered pensively as he touched Calandriel’s lips with his fingertips, “why do mages seem to drown themselves in such billowy robes and cloaks? One can never quite tell where the mage begins or ends,” Zevran giggled.

“Well,” Calandriel gasped, “we need lots of room for all of the tricks we have up our sleeves,” and with what little mana she could muster, she formed a small orb of golden glowing energy. She waved it away and it floated over Zevran’s head for a moment before it swirled all around his body, making golden sparkles appear to stick to him. 

He looked up at her, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. She could see his muscles quiver with pleasure in the glow. It took Zevran a moment to return to the matter at hand, or mouth. Calandriel had always wanted to try that spell, and clearly it had the desired effect. She thanked Jowan in the back of her mind for telling her about a highly sought after book in the restricted section of the archives back at the Circle Tower. 

“I will get you back for that one, my naughty mage,” Zevran grunted with a menacing smile. He all but tore open her robe, revealing Calandriel’s lovely alabaster breasts. About the size of small plums, they were Zevran’s fruit. He lightly brushed his fingers of each hand around each one, teasing them until her eager nipples rose to attention. He flicked his tongue across one rapidly and squeezed the other one between his thumb and index finger. The pleasure was more than Calandriel could tolerate and she wriggled beneath the Antivan. 

Her left leg jolted in pain at the movement and Calandriel gasped. Zevran, attentive to her discomfort, ceased his motions and coaxed her leg, rubbing it gently.

“I am sorry, I have been too hasty,” Zevran looked up at Calandriel, his eyebrows furrowed in apology. 

Calandriel fiercely shook her head back and forth. “Please don’t stop,” she said, her voice cracking in desperation. “I promise to tell you if you are hurting me again, but I don’t think that’s possible,” she sighed. 

“A challenge?” Zevran laughed, as he lowered his head now to Calandriel’s other breast. His right hand moved further down, an exploring vehicle of its own. Once at his destination, Zevran’s fingers gingerly probed between Calandriel’s legs, underneath her rumpled robes. His touch was a glimmering tingle, and Calandriel thought she might have an idea of what her spell must have felt like as he stroked her round and round. It was too much. Calandriel clutched a hank of his hair. 

“Zevran, please. I must have you,” Calandriel whispered. 

“I do not want to upset your injury,” he replied, nonchalant. 

“Go. Slow.” Calandriel said, heavily breathing each word. 

“I suppose if the lady insists,” Zevran said, feigning exasperation as he rose on his arms. Calandriel thought it took forever for him to unbuckle all of his leather, but the anticipation wasn’t all that bad. She admired him in the dim light of the tent. He was lean, but with the taut muscle of a large feline. His blonde hair fell to his shoulders, where it stood out against his golden skin. As he undid his leather studded skirt, Calandriel’s eyes grew wide at his substantial erect member, ready for action. Zevran bent to the side and began to unbuckle his boot.

“Wait!” Calandriel put a hand on his forearm. “Leave them on.” she said. 

And so wearing nothing but his two leather knee highs, Zevran knelt between Calandriel’s legs. He simply parted her violet robes, not wanting to upset her leg by removing them completely. Leaning over her once again, Zevran kissed her lips, butterfly light as he slowly pushed into her. Calandriel was impatient. An animal like groan escaped from her throat. She clawed at Zevran’s back. 

“Ah, ah,” he said smiling, “You said slow, and so it shall be.” Zevran, arms trembling, glided in a centimeter at a time. His girth seemed to stroke her everywhere, and yet not quickly enough. After what seemed like an eon, he was finally completely sheathed in her. Calandriel clasped at his muscled buttock with a hand, but he was already beginning to retreat back out just as slowly. Resigned to this sweet torture, Calandriel lay back, resting her hands on Zevran’s narrow hips as he continued, in no hurry whatsoever. 

The two elves glided slowly building pressure over time until no longer able to withstand it, Calandriel felt the fluttering waves of release as Zevran continued to move in her. Calandriel no longer remembered the leg, the bolt, the assassins, or anything bad that had happened that day. There was just Zevran, and his tender loving care.

* * *

The next morning, Astrid was up shortly after sunrise. She had been exhausted when the party had made camp the night before, but whether she could admit it to herself or not, she couldn’t wait to see Alistair. After their moonlight caress near the stream, they had made their way back to an empty campfire. So distracted by their first kiss, Astrid realized they had both left all of the pots and dishes down in the river. After tracking down all but one bowl that had escaped downstream, she and Alistair once again crept back up to camp stifling giggles. Astrid’s stomach flipped pleasantly again at the memory of Alistair’s final, chaste peck on the cheek before she had retreated to her tent for the night.

The fire was still aglow and Astrid poked the embers with a stick, encouraging the heat. She was in such a good mood, she would surprise everyone with breakfast. Normally the group tried to cook one meal a day or less, but she knew they would be able to purchase more rations soon outside of Orzammar. She felt as if she were celebrating her own personal holiday and wanted to share the festive mood with her companions. She cut up the last of their supply of potatoes and tossed them in the pot first, which swung over the campfire slowly. Suddenly remembering that she and Calandriel had found some wild spring onions on their march to Lake Calenhad, Astrid popped into her tent. She grabbed a handful, as well as some elfroot. Elfroot was not the most flavorful cooked, but it would add some healthful filler to the meal. Returning to the fire, she crumbled up some of the dry, spiced sausage and threw it in the pot. The sausage and potatoes were fragrant, even if everyone was tired of them by now. She wondered what sort of food the dwarves ate if they seldom came above ground. 

In her history lessons at Highever, Astrid remembered learning about the bustling economy of Orzammar. She had felt uncomfortable hearing about their caste system, though, and found it unfair that the city shunned surfacers, but also depended on them for supplies. Was Ferelden that different, though? She unwittingly glanced over at Calandriel’s tent and thought of her new friend. She was sure many throughout the country would consider Calandriel a casteless, a nobody. Look at what had happened in Lothering, and in Haven. 

As she threw the diced onions and elfroot into the pot to join the simmering potatoes and sausages, Astrid’s mind wandered back in time. She was seven years old and had traveled all the way to Denerim from Highever with her family for a noble wedding. It was her first big trip and Astrid could not believe the enormity of the capital city as their carriage approached the gate. Once through the gate, their carriage moved at a snail’s pace because of how crowded the streets were. Astrid had never seen, nor smelled so many people. She was amazed all the same. 

The carriage rolled through the Market District and soon Astrid saw another large gate, similar to the one that had allowed them into the city. This gate, however, was flanked with five times as many Denerim City Guards. Astrid saw hands and arms waving through the gate and heard children screaming. 

“Please let me out. I need to feed my child!” a woman cried as she pushed her arm through an opening in the gate.

The city guard whapped the woman’s hand with his curled fist in response. The child in her arms howled as the woman stepped back from the gate.

“Mother,” Astrid turned to her mother who was sitting next to her clutching a handkerchief to her nose “who are those people? Why are they all locked inside?”

Astrid’s mother sighed heavily, “Those are _elves_.” she said, spitting the term in disgust. “They are thieves and slatterns that only hurt people if they are let free.” At this, her mother physically grabbed Astrid’s head and turned it away from the window.

“But that was a baby, and a mother. Can we go help them? I thought elves lived in the forest and were magical.” Astrid pleaded, confused at the reality that differed so greatly from her favorite storybooks and histories her father read her.

“No!” her mother suddenly seized Astrid’s wrist so firmly it hurt. “You are never to go near there and you are never, _never_ to speak to an elf. Do you hear me?” Astrid, frightened by her mother, nodded fiercely. Hearing their conversation, Astrid’s father cut in. 

“Eleanor,” he said softly to Astrid’s mother “That isn’t a fair assessment. Astrid, the elves have been treated very badly, which leads them to act out. Your mother is right, though. The alienages are very dangerous and we must avoid them at all times, understand?” 

Astrid slowly nodded again and leaned against her mother.

They were gone now. Astrid was unsure if her brother was still alive somewhere, but she tried not to think of him too much. She kept the pain of losing her home and family deep down. There was too much to do since she joined the Wardens, and ultimately, the band she joined after Ostagar was her only family now. 

As she had hoped for, the aroma of onions, potatoes, and sausage had wafted in a circuit around the camp and she heard rustling in the tents. Morrigan was the first to emerge, pulling herself to standing with her staff.

“Ah, I see my simple potatoes and sausage last night were not good enough for the lady. You need to get all fancy with herbs and spices, do you? I’m sure you miss the cooks from your faroff castle,” Morrigan said to Astrid as she walked toward the stream.

“Morrigan, it’s not-- Ugh. Whatever,” Astrid tried to call after the witch, but gave up. Sometimes she didn’t know why Morrigan had even joined them. She was sometimes eager to help, and she had saved Astrid’s life from the spiders, but no one knew anything about her. She really was a strange one.

Astrid tried not to take the comment personally. She heard murmuring and looked over to see the lithe Zevran stepping out of Calandriel’s tent. Astrid smiled to herself, happy that her friend had received some attention and care after yesterday’s altercation. Zevran stooped and held a hand in the tent opening and helped Calandriel out. She was walking, albeit slowly, but it was welcome news all the same. Gherlin’s Pass wasn’t far and even at a slow walk, they could make it there by mid morning if they all packed up quickly.

Astrid beamed at Calandriel, “I see that Zevran has nursed you back to health. I trust you are feeling better?” she said, spooning some of the breakfast hodge podge onto a plate for Calandriel. 

Zevran let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, Calandriel, I forgot to tell you. I, too, was wounded yesterday. Won’t you _nurse_ me??”

Calandriel pretended to roll her eyes at him, but the two shared an intimate glance that Astrid could read like a book. So they had been reunited truly last night. Well, good. As long as Zevran stayed true to his word. Zevran crouched over the pot and served himself some breakfast as well. Last up was Alistair. Astrid kept anxiously peeking over at his tent. When he finally stepped out, she dropped a spoon in surprise. Quickly wiping it on her shirt, Astrid scooped a helping onto a plate and placed it on the ground. Would Alistair play it cool? Did everyone know? Astrid felt her cheeks burning and bounded off to her tent to begin taking it down.

She stood in the center of the tent, collapsing the central beam on her tip toes when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Ahh!” Astrid yelped as she dropped the beam, the top of the tent collapsing down on her head. The canvas lifted and she saw Alistair standing in front of her, already fully dressed and armored for the day. 

“No, ‘Good morning’? No recollections of all the sweet dreams you surely had last night?” he teased.

“I didn’t -- I don’t want to be obvious, you know?” Astrid said, lifting the canvas with her forearm to better see him.

“I see.” Alistair said flatly. “Well I’ll just leave you, lest anyone, all two people, thinks I am being too forward with you.” He disentangled himself and turned to leave the tent.

“Wait,” Astrid said, pulling on his shoulder. “Come back.” Alistair turned around and faced her again, arms crossed. Astrid continued, “I’ve just never done this. Well, not really.” She thought briefly of Gilmore all those years ago. This was nothing like that. “I don’t know how it works, what to do. This is about as far from a noble court as it gets. Now if you wanted to come take tea with me as I embroider screens, I know how to proceed. But this is all so… free. It scares me a little.” Astrid anxiously dug the toe of her boot in the ground, now unable to meet Alistair’s eyes. 

“Astrid,” he said. “Do you suppose I was some rake when I was training to be a templar? Do you know what women I was allowed to talk to? Only Revered Sisters, or, if I was lucky, the Revered Mother, who was so old, she made the sisters look like Orlesian courtesans in comparison!” Astrid couldn’t help but laugh at his description. “What I’m trying to say is, this is new to me, too. What happened last night, well, it was really special for me. Please don’t shy away, Astrid. I know we Wardens are supposed to uphold our duties first and foremost, but having you with me really makes it all more bearable.” Alistair awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. He now wondered if he’d said too much, made a fool of himself. 

Suddenly, Astrid lunged forward and tipping her toes again, seized Alistair’s shoulders and kissed him squarely on the lips. “Good morning!” she exclaimed. She then continued to take apart her tent and pack her things up as the others ate.


	16. Practical Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The companions reach Gherlen's Pass and learn of the current state of unrest in Orzammar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lavenderbee put together this most triumphant playlist of epic dwarven songs to accompany the following chapters: [Dwarvish Fantasy](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLbKuAbKBRLLRj_J21OUTzG2BJhJfMMHxR)

From across the camp, Zevran whispered into Calandriel’s pointed ear, his words inaudible to the rest of them, though his accent could not be mistaken. He placed a hand on her thigh and she giggled and looked over at Astrid and Alistair. She caught Astrid’s eyes and wiggled her white eyebrows up and down suggestively. 

Astrid’s face reddened as she smiled, and she continued busying herself packing up the rest of their things. 

Once everything had been put away, Alistair pulled out a map and studied it. “This shouldn’t take terribly long, assuming we don’t run into any trouble. Is everyone ready?”

They all nodded and began the march to Gherlen’s Pass. Alistair took the lead, with Astrid and Morrigan following close behind, and the two elves brought up the rear. After a while, Astrid glanced back at them. Zevran was now speaking in Antivan. Was that… poetry? Calandriel appeared to be completely enraptured in whatever it was he was saying. She admired her friend for the way she seemed to love with such abandon. Astrid had been brought up with so many high expectations. She had to memorize all the names and ranks of the other noble houses and additionally know how to address each of them at court. She had been expected to marry only those her parents deemed a sensible match, who could raise her family’s honor, regardless of love. She had always hated that thought. She looked ahead and watched Alistair pacing before her. He was so triumphant in the morning light, his sandy hair glinting with golden highlights. She tingled inside at the memory of their first kiss and began to slow her pace until she was level with Calandriel. 

“Calan, can we talk… in private for a moment?” Astrid said. 

“Did you say ‘private?’” Zevran asked, jovially. “I have never liked this word ‘private.’ I think the privates should not be kept so… privately.”

Calandriel laughed. “You are _depraved_!” she said, and pushed him away. “Go on, now. This is girl talk!”

Zevran took the hint and caught up with Morrigan. Whatever advances he threw at her were quickly denied and he ran ahead to catch up with Alistair, who was quite far ahead of all of them now. 

When she was certain that the rest of their companions were out of earshot, Astrid spoke. “So, I’m just… curious,” she began slowly, not entirely sure what she was trying to say. “Did you and Zevran… you know… _do it_... last night?” She whispered at the end. 

Calandriel began to laugh, a hint of color creeping into her white cheeks. Astrid had never seen her blush before. She was always so candid and unashamed about such matters. She nodded in acknowledgment. 

“How do you… I mean,” she fumbled for the words, feeling so insecure about having this conversation. She tried to remember the many other times she and the elf had discussed things of a sexual nature and it hadn’t been awkward at all. Her friend would not judge her. “Don’t you worry you’ll get pregnant?”

Calandriel looked at her and gave a serene smile. She un-shouldered her pack and began to rifle through it until she produced a small glass vial. She handed it to Astrid.

Astrid took it and looked carefully at the shimmering pink liquid inside.

“It’s one of the first things you learn how to make in herbalism at the Circle,” Calandriel said. “All the teachers know what kind of business their students get up to, so they teach us how to prepare this. So as not to make more mages, you know?” She laughed again. “Just a drop beforehand, and you’re protected. If you ever need some,” she glanced ahead at Alistair, smiling, “just let me know.”

“I don’t think I’ll be needing it any time soon,” Astrid said nervously, and handed back the potion. “I was just curious.”

“Oh come on, now!” Calandriel caught her. “I know what you’re thinking. And he’s thinking it too! Don’t believe for a second that the day he woke up with that rager, he wasn’t dreaming about you!” 

Astrid couldn’t help but smile, try as she might not to.

“You’ve got something special going on there,” Calandriel said, more serious now. “I see the way he looks at you. And you at him. My only advice is to take it slow.”

“But you don’t seem to be taking it slow,” Astrid noted. She watched as Zevran spoke animatedly with Alistair far ahead. 

“Yes. But that is my problem,” the elf confessed. “I always jump into these things too quickly and wind up getting my heart broken. Don’t think that I don’t see the way he flirts with everyone else too.” She sounded a bit sad. 

Astrid quieted at the sudden shift in her voice. She had thought Calandriel had it together far better than she herself did, but she realized even one as bold as her friend still felt insecure when it came to the game of love. 

Ahead of them, the men were talking too. “You need to loosen up a bit, my friend,” said Zevran, trailing alongside Alistair. “You are too uptight for one so handsome. Perhaps I could give you a massage to relax those rippling biceps?” Every R he spoke rolled off his tongue like honey. 

“Ew, no! What? No!” Alistair said in disgust. “Look, I don’t know what kind of vibes you think I’m giving off, but I am _not_ interested!”

“Ah, such a shame. You and I could have a good time,” the rogue continued, unperturbed. 

“Besides,” Alistair said. “Are you not sleeping with one of our companions? Or are you truly that skilled of a healer?”

Zevran laughed the same exuberant laugh he had so many times before. “Some may consider such arts to be quite therapeutic. You ought to try it yourself some time. It truly would help you to relax.”

“For the last time, I am not going to sleep with you!” Alistair said incredulously.

Zevran tutted his tongue and shook his head. “I do not mean me, silly knight! The girl. Astrid is her name, yes? She is dying to be touched. If I did not know better, I would say she is _screaming_ for it.”

The two of them turned back, looking at Astrid and Calandriel, before facing the front again. 

Alistair stopped suddenly and thrust his hand out at the elf, gripping his shoulder tightly. “Don’t you even think about it, you perverted little ponce!” 

Zevran remained calm, arching an eyebrow at the hand on his person. “I suggest you put your hands to better uses,” he said. “Now if you will excuse me, I feel like _singing_!” At that, he danced away and began a jolly tune about a fierce madame that started her own brothel. 

_What a strange person,_ Alistair thought. 

Hours slipped by and the group alternated between idly chatting and taking turns telling stories or singing songs. They stopped briefly only for water and to relieve themselves and continued on. Finally, Gherlen’s Pass loomed before them, and the Frostbacks beyond it seemed to stretch on for eternity. They were so close now. A gigantic stonework bridge stretched on for at least a mile, a true feat of dwarven architecture. It was ancient, but still looked new. At the end of it lie the marketplace and beyond that, the gates to Orzammar. The companions began the last leg of their journey into the world of the dwarves. They marvelled at the precise geometric patterns that adorned the stonework of the bridge. The designs were simple but incredible all the same. 

As the party walked along the great stone bridge, they all found a spring in their steps. The end was in sight. Astrid had lingered close to Calandriel, chatting amicably with her friend. She still hadn’t mentioned last night’s developments with Alistair, though. For some reason, she wanted to keep it to herself, a little secret just she and Alistair shared. When the party finally stepped back onto solid ground, markers led them up a steep mountainside. Each marker was made of stone and about knee height, for a human or elf. Astrid could hear voices coming from ahead on the trail. The steep trail finally leveled off and Astrid smiled as she saw a bustling market in front of what must be the entrance to Orzammar. Many dwarves, but also some humans and a rare elf or two had tents and stalls erected in the marketplace. 

She and Calandriel could now see Morrigan, Alistair, and Zevran standing together in front of one colorful tent. An oily proprietor rubbed his hands together, stepping out from the tent and attempting to lure the travelers inside to see his wares. Alistair ignored him, and physically pulled on Zevran to keep him from wandering into the tent. 

“Alright, I’m getting whatever basic food we can find here, some extra chain links and studs for repairs, and parchment for you to write to,” Alistair began, turning to Calandriel to discuss her stationery needs. He shook his head. “On second thought, you probably shouldn’t be writing to anyone at the moment. We will just have to contact the elves and the Circle Tower once your, erm, situation is resolved.”

Calandriel sighed, but nodded her head. She hoped she would be safe in Orzammar, but the menacing stares she and Zevran were already attracting didn’t go without notice. She knew that they clearly didn’t look like traders. From what she understood, though, surface dwarves were typically more open to newcomers, or to anyone who had gold in their pockets. 

Alistair turned to the group again. “Fifteen minutes. Anything else you need, go get it yourself. Let’s meet back at this same tent then.”

Calandriel smirked at the knight. “Alright, _father_ ,” she giggled. Astrid also smiled at Alistair. 

Alistair coughed and started to walk like he knew where he was going. He wanted to be near Astrid, to ask her questions and have some more time alone. He couldn’t stop replaying the events of last night over and over in his head. Whenever he looked at her, he unwittingly made an inventory of her person. First were her muscled calves masked by her high laced boots, the quick peeks of her softer and generous thighs when her leather skirt swayed. Astrid’s leathers covered her full hips and tapered waist, but they clung to her chest. His pulse quickened sometimes at camp watching her. She was always crouching down and springing back up, her legs flexing and her softer parts bouncing. When he had first ventured off with Calandriel and Astrid, after Ostagar, he admitted he was a lot more curious about the mage. Calandriel was a mage, and an elf, and he simply wondered what she really looked like beneath all her flowing robes. But Astrid was driving him mad in her short leathers, the tight lacings, and her wild curls always escaping her attempts at a braid. 

He realized he was standing alone and staring at Astrid and Calandriel as they approached an herbalist’s cart. _Get your mind out of the gutter, mate,_ Alistair chided himself. He’d spent too much time with Zevran on the road. _Not that you even know what’s in the gutter. Or what to do with it once you’re in the gutter._ Alistair shook his head and stomped away. Afraid of somehow revealing his thoughts to his fellow Wardens by speaking, he thought it best to avoid them and go purchase their supplies. 

“I’ll need some elfroot, some deep mushrooms, two lifestones, an ounce of distilling agent, and -- how much are your glass vials?” Calandriel ordered, quite comfortable shopping with the herbalist. There was an apothecary in the Circle Tower where potion masters worked and apprentices ground, weighed, and packaged herbs and other ingredients for the students. 

“One silver for ten, two silvers for twenty five.” The old crone behind the cart looked like she lived in the Frostbacks. She wore all animal skins and a necklace completely made of claws not unlike Morrigan’s necklace. 

“I’ll take ten.” Calandriel said. 

“Calan,” Astrid whispered, pulling her elven friend aside for a moment. “What’s all in your pink potion?”

“Oh, right. Well, Queen Anne’s Lace, some Wild Yam root, and I like to add some mint oil or snowberries to make it less bitter tasting, and then I--” Calandriel babbled on but Astrid already turned to face the shopkeeper.

Astrid cleared her throat, “I’d like a posey of Queen Anne’s Lace and… two scoops of that there. Wild Yam root. And those mint leaves you have hanging up.” She twiddled her thumbs anxiously. Calandriel markedly looked over at her. 

The crone, unfazed by any of their requests, packaged all their herbs in muslin drawstring sacks. “That’ll be one gold and thirteen silvers. All together?” She drawled in a thick backwoods accent. 

Astrid placed two gold pieces in the woman’s hand. “Keep the change. You’ve been very helpful,” she called after her shoulder as she and Calandriel walked away. 

Astrid shoved her bag at Calandriel, who joggled it enticingly. 

“Alright, one love potion coming up!” Calandriel said loudly, making a show of hiking up her sleeves.

“Shut UP!” Astrid cried, tugging on said sleeves. “I would just rather get these supplies while we’re up here on the surface. Who knows how long we could be down in Orzammar? Anything could happen and I want to be prepared.” Astrid looped her thumbs in her belt as they walked around, looking like she was going to start whistling. 

“Alright. I’ll make this for you. You bought all this stuff anyway, so thank you! It just needs a few days to distill once concocted.” Calandriel said. By now it had been about fifteen minutes and the girls did not want to keep the party waiting, so they walked back toward the original meeting place. 

Alistair and Morrigan were there. Alistair’s arms were outstretched, holding out a burlap sack which Morrigan was digging through. Her mouth turned down in concentration. She removed a few bottles of lyrium potion, vibrant blue and shimmering and pocketed them. She then removed a white circular object tied up with twine.

“Really, Alistair? This is a necessity?” Morrigan said, waving the object around.

“Quit it! You’ll smash it!” Alistair scolded, snatching the item and depositing it back into the bag. 

“Well let us all know when you bust out the soft cheese wheel, then,” Morrigan said. “Don’t sneak it off to one of your midnight rendezvouses with Astrid… or Zevran for that matter.”

Astrid blanched at the mention of her name, but the rest of the party had already moved on to asking where Zevran was. As if hearing his name, Zevran appeared, stepping up to Calandriel. 

He produced a spray of lilacs and held them to Calandriel. “My lady,” he said with a flourish of the wrist. 

“I hope you paid for these,” Calandriel muttered, inhaling the intoxicating scent of the tiny flowers.

“Oh I have,” Zevran said, clutching his chest. “I will pay all of my life for my love of you. You do not know how I suffer with visions of your face, so beautiful it pains me.”

Next, Zevran approached Morrigan, “And for you, fierce witch.” He pulled out a deep violet iris, a velvety bloom. 

“Ha! You’ve got to be kidding me,” Morrigan spat, but she took the flower all the same.

Zevran stepped at last to Astrid, handing her a small bunch of daisies from behind his back. “For the sweet girl, Astrid.”

“Wow,” Astrid said, unsure of what to say. She looked to the left and saw Calandriel’s eyes downcast, the lilacs hanging limply at her side. To her right, Alistair’s nostrils flared. Morrigan, imperfect timing as usual, was laughing to herself at the situation. “That’s really nice of you, Zevran. Thanks.” Astrid said as flat and emotionless as she could. She did not want to upset Calandriel. 

“Alright, let’s head toward the main gate, then, shall we?” Alistair said, brusquely. Astrid and Morrigan followed him, leaving the elves to the rear. 

“That was very generous of you, Zevran,” Calandriel said, smiling at him. She did her best to keep a blank expression, but Zevran already knew her too well. 

“Do not be jealous, my moonflower. You know you are the one who I find most ravishing, my sweetheart. You see, my intentions are truly noble.” Zevran gestured with his hands in explanation.

“I fear the witch is so cold-hearted that she will never know the joys of the flesh. I do pity her. So I felt that such a gift may warm her heart. It may not, though. And your friend, Astrid. The knight is clearly smitten with her, but he never touches her, never claims his passion for her. A little jealousy can really help things along, don’t you think?” Zevran spoke all of this as if it were completely normal to Calandriel.

Calandriel gave him a small smile. “You’ve been with us one day and you’re already stirring things up, Zevran.” She leaned on him as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. 

“My dear, how is your leg feeling? Might I stir you up again tonight? My spoon is quite…” 

Calandriel clapped a hand over his mouth before he could go on. They broke apart as they climbed up the stairs to the main gate. Alistair, Astrid, and Morrigan already appeared to be talking with the guards. Calandriel had never before visited Orzammar, but it looked heavily guarded. There were at least twenty dwarven guards lining the giant monoliths of doors to the city. 

“No one’s allowed in, by order of King Harrowmont!” one burly dwarf with a bejeweled beard shouted at the Wardens. 

Astrid put a hand on her hip and displayed the treaties with her other hand. The guard took the treaties and read over the one drawn up between the Grey Wardens and the ancient dwarven king, muttering to himself.

“These are old documents indeed, but appear to be genuine.” the guard said to Astrid, clearly impressed. She smiled and looked over at her friends. “However,” the dwarf continued “Orzammar is currently in such a state of turmoil that we cannot allow anyone inside and especially not surfacers.” 

Alistair raised his hands to his sides, “Did you miss the part in the treaty about there being a Blight? Because there is one right now. We Wardens fought against an enormous host of darkspawn at Ostagar not two weeks ago. We are desperate for aid.” 

The guard shook his head, “I don’t expect you cloud-heads to understand that there has recently been an assassination here and we are on the brink of civil war. Now is there something you lot can do to fix that?” The guard fixed his beady eyes on Calandriel and Zevran. 

“What happened?” Calandriel asked the guard, trying to stifle any personal bias of what the dwarves had gotten themselves into.

The guard heaved a long sigh and glanced to and fro at his fellow guards. “Listen, I really shouldn’t be telling all of you these matters. Maybe come back in a few weeks when we have this all sorted out.” 

Calandriel shook her head. “We understand that it isn’t a good time, but the darkspawn won’t. We really must speak to your leader. Can you ask at least?” The elf pleaded, trying to show that neither she, nor anyone in their party meant harm.

The head guard rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Oh all right,” he said. “Let me go and see if I can get a hold of old Dulin Forender. That’s King Harrowmont’s lieutenant, and I imagine he’s very busy protecting the King right now.”

The guard called out to the doormen, who cranked a giant enchanted dweomer dial that slowly forced the great doors open. The head guard passed through the doors. Just as he cleared the threshold, the wheel began to turn and the doors were closed again with a giant _thum_.

“Well, this could be a while,” Morrigan said, seating herself on the ground in front of the doors. Astrid folded the treaties back up and handed them to Alistair for safekeeping. She strode off a few paces and sat down, dangling her feet off the edge of the entrance platform. 

“May I join you?” Astrid heard a telltale clink of boots approach her. She looked up to see Alistair next to her. 

“Of course!” she exclaimed, scooting aside to make a place for him even though no one else was sitting near them. He lowered himself down cross legged next to her, his metal boot knee just touching her leg. 

“What do you think is going on?” Astrid asked Alistair. “I thought that the dwarves were a very orderly and traditional people. Civil war here surprises me.”

Alistair shook his head and shrugged. “That was my impression as well. It probably takes a lot of unrest to affect Orzammar. I wonder if darkspawn are attacking them from the Deep Roads and they’re just not telling us. We won’t know unless we can get inside.” 

“I hope it doesn’t take too long. We’ve been traveling so quickly it feels so strange to just be sitting and waiting.” Astrid said, swinging her legs back and forth. Alistair began to dig through his bag and pulled out a small book. He handed it to her. 

“ ‘Before Andrastianism: Forgotten Faiths’,” Astrid read the title aloud. “Wow, Alistair, I’ve never read this. It sounds fascinating!” Astrid beamed, looking over at him. 

“It’s one book that I was definitely not supposed to have growing up, which has only made me want to hold onto it more. I’ve heard you go on about the library at Highever. Maybe this can help you pass the time for a while.” He reached over and helped her to open the tattered book and begin to look at the chapter titles. 

Closer to the city door, Zevran and Calandriel were teaching Morrigan how to play Wicked Grace, betting coppers instead of articles of clothing. Morrigan, still new to the game, was losing terribly. Zevran grinned as he swept up his earnings from the last hand.

“I fully intend to cash these in later, you nasty witch!” the Antivan teased Morrigan.

“I fold.” Calandriel said, dropping her hand on the ground.

“But we haven’t dealt yet, have we?” Morrigan asked, looking confused.

“I’m going to go check on what’s happening.” Calandriel said, dusting her robes off as she rose. I’m not jealous, she told herself. Zevran abandoned and fought the Crows to save me. He cares for me. Last night was amazing. She looked back at her fellow elf and admired him from behind. His long golden hair fell gracefully down his back, flanked on each side by a strong, broad shoulder. 

Calandriel, feeling a little anxious as an elf standing up to a gaggle of dwarven guards, held onto her staff for support. 

“Excuse me,” she said softly. No one heard her. Suddenly, she heard a knock coming from inside the city gate and soon the doors began to open again. The head guard was back, this time accompanied by another dwarf with ruddy hair and a beard and silverite armor. 

“There’s one of them,” the guard said to the red haired dwarf, pointing at Calandriel.

“Hello, Warden,” the dwarf said. “Dulin Forender, King Harrowmont’s lieutenant. Is the rest of your party ready?” Dulin said, looking over at the seated figures on the entrance platform.

Calandriel stamped her staff on the ground, and it emitted a high pitched whistle. Morrigan, Zevran, Astrid, and Alistair all scrambled up and hurried over to the door. 

“Well, what a, um, diverse group of Grey Wardens you all are.” Dulin said, scanning the group from the scantily clad Morrigan, to the Antivan assassin, the elven mage, the lady-gone-rogue, and finally smiling at the most traditional looking Warden, Alistair. 

Picking up on this, Alistair extended a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant. I trust that the king is in good health?”

Dulin shook his hand quickly. “Yes, yes, he is for now. But let’s get inside and I can tell you all about it. I’d rather not linger here with the doors ajar.” Dulin clapped twice and once again, the gigantic doors drew to a close. 

Calandriel could not believe her eyes when she walked through the doors. She thought surely it must be Orzammar. However, Dulin informed the party that they were simply passing through the Hall of Heroes, the entryway into the city proper. The vaulted ceilings went up so high, they seemed infinite. All the walls and columns were carved with faces and runes and geometric designs similar to the bridge they had crossed earlier. There were small channels that ran from one end of the hall all the way to the other filled with lava. It was bright yellow and orange and hotly coursing through the channels. How the lava didn’t melt the channels and fill the hall up befuddled even the mage’s mind. Dulin quickly walked through the hall, businesslike. He had seen it a hundred times before, but Calandriel thought she detected a small grin of satisfaction on the lieutenant as the party ogled the incredible architecture.

Dulin did not continue to chat as they quickly bustled through the Hall of Heroes into Orzammar Commons. Calandriel thought there had been a lot of commerce outside the city gates, but the carts and stalls paled in comparison to the dazzling marketplace inside the commons. She could see multiple jewel shops, the wares glittering for all to see. Such shops were flanked by fierce security dwarves. There were signs for armories, many smith shops, and a place called Tapster’s Tavern.

Dulin, sensing that the Wardens were trailing, encouraged them to keep up with him. “There will be plenty of time to explore the Commons later. We need to speak to the King. His estate is in the Diamond Quarter, which should be a little more stable than this area of town.” he explained, turning back to Calandriel and the rest of the gang. 

Dulin approached another ornately carved set of double doors on the East side of the Commons. He opened the doors, but Calandriel could not tell if he had used a key or some dweomer mechanism. Once they passed through these doors, it was just a few paces until they reached the Harrowmont Estate. Dulin spoke with the guards at the door, liveried in Harrowmont’s family crest and colors, and they admitted the group in. 

“His Majesty is in his study. I will be just behind you folks.” Dulin said, extending a hand in the direction of the room.

The group trailed into the study as the dwarf king rose from his desk. He was very regal looking, with long salt and pepper hair. He wore no crown, but a great pendant also bearing his family crest hung around his neck. His beard matched his hair in color, but was plaited into elegant braids. Calandriel hadn’t known Prince Bhelen, but Lord Harrowmont certainly looked the part of a king. She bowed her head, muttering “Your majesty.” Astrid curtsied as best she could in her leather skirt and Alistair gave a regal bow. Morrigan and Zevran quietly stood behind them, ignorant or indisposed to such formalities. 

“Enough of that,” Harrowmont said, his voice a low rumble. “I welcome you to Orzammar, though I wish it could be under more pleasant circumstances on both our parts. The Grey Wardens have been friends in many times of need to fight the darkspawn. Now who is leading the Wardens these days?” the king asked, stroking his long beard and looking at the ground.

“Duncan fell at Ostagar,” Calandriel blurted. “We have no formal leader since that battle, but have been traveling together since. I am Calandriel Aurealin. My companions are Zevran Arainai of Antiva, Morrigan, of the Korcari Wilds, Grey Warden Alistair, and Lady Astrid Cousland.” Each person nodded or waved as Calandriel introduced him or her to the king. 

Harrowmont frowned introspectively and nodded his head. “So you have banded together from all over, it appears. Well, I wish I could send you help. Dulin told me about the treaty and I have no doubt that once things are in order here, I will have the time and resources to gather up an army to send you. As it is, Orzammar is not a safe place for me.” Harrowmont shook his head with a sigh.

“What’s going on here?” Astrid asked.

“It’s a long story, but I’ll try and keep it quick. The late King Endrin died recently. I was his most trusted advisor and he named me heir to the throne instead of his own son, Bhelen. The past few weeks have been a frenzy at the Assembly, everyone trying to decide upon the rightful king. One morning, Bhelen was found dead in his home. I had no part in it. I understand if you all don’t believe me, for it seems hardly anybody does. Bhelen’s fanatics are parading outside my home, threatening me and my family. I haven’t left here in days.” Harrowmont sat down in his desk again while he explained.

“But if Bhelen is dead, you were made king, correct? Trian Aeducan is also dead if I recall correctly.” Alistair asked.

“That’s right, although The Assembly has not had a formal coronation yet due to the unrest here. If you all can help me get to the bottom of this and find out who killed Bhelen, I can have them arrested. The citizens of Orzammar may not believe me, but it may calm down the fanatics.” Harrowmont said, looking up at the Wardens.

Astrid again wanted to help him, but she didn’t want to make the same mistake she had in Lothering. They were a group now. She piped up.

“King Harrowmont, your situation sounds difficult. If possible, could you excuse my fellows and I for a moment?” she said, feigning confidence.

He smiled warmly. “Of course. You will want to discuss your plans. I’ll just be in the sitting room across the hall when you’re ready.” The king rose from his chair and left the Wardens alone.

Morrigan spoke first. “Why do we always need to help someone? Don’t they have to adhere to these treaties no matter what?”

Alistair replied, “Technically, yes. But they will probably provide a much larger army and in quicker time if we can help them out first. Otherwise who knows how long it will take for this to get sorted out.”

“I agree,” Calandriel said. “The faster we help King Harrowmont, the faster Orzammar can draw up an army united under one king.” _And the faster we can head towards the Brecilian Forest,_ she thought to herself. 

“I think if we can help remove the charges from Harrowmont’s door, we may be granted access to the Shaperate as well. It may seem like kissing up, but the dwarves are a truly formidable ally and we need all the help we can get.” Astrid voiced her feelings freely now that the king was out of the room. 

They all turned to Zevran, who was twirling a single flower between his fingers idly. “I go wherever my love Calandriel does. I no longer am employed, so I care not where I go or what I do, so long as I might gaze upon her flawless…” Zevran lilted, taking Calandriel’s hand and kissing it.

“Yes, yes, we understand,” Alistair interrupted. “Alright, so let’s tell the king we will investigate this murder and see if he has any information for us.” With that, the knight strode out of the room in the direction of the aforementioned sitting room. Alistair approached King Harrowmont. 

“We’ll help you find Bhelen’s murderer. Do you have any suspects so far?” the knight asked.

“Well, one thing that has always struck me as suspicious is during King Endrin’s rule, there was always a significant amount of gang activity coming from Dust Town. I tried to talk to him about the problem, but in his condition, he brushed it aside. Since Endrin’s death, there has been a surge in robberies, smuggling, and muggings not only in Dust Town, but as far as the Commons. That might be somewhere to start. Now, if you all will excuse me, I must be off to meet with Dulin. Please return if you have any discoveries.” King Harrowmont bowed to them all, and headed back toward his study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We didn't want to copy the games exactly, because that would be boring. Lavenderbee made the decision to make Harrowmont king so that we wouldn't have to go through that whole debacle. Of course, just because Harrowmont has been made king, it does not mean his reign is easy.


	17. Whodunnit?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The companions make a new friend at Tapster's Tavern. Many drinks are had by all.

“Well, where should we go first? It’s not as if we can knock on every door in Orzammar and simply ask ‘Did you happen to kill Prince Bhelen?’” Astrid turned and asked the party on the front steps of the Harrowmont Estate. 

Zevran spread his hands out in front of him, suggesting that he had complete control of the matter at hand. “I would recommend we begin by visiting that tavern. Places like that are full of unscrupled persons and strong drink will always loosen a tongue.” 

“Or a bodice!” Morrigan cackled.

Growing rather tired of Morrigan and Zevran’s easy banter, Calandriel said, “Tapster’s is back in Orzammar Commons. Let’s go, then.”

The group made their way through the streets of Orzammar, marvelling at the straightness of the roads and the intricate architecture all around them. Soon, they reached the Commons with its many shops and market stalls. 

“A beautiful bauble for your lady friend?” a vendor called out to Alistair, holding aloft a necklace of glittering rubies. 

“Um, no thanks,” Alistair said awkwardly. He wondered if Astrid would even be interested in such a thing. The necklace was gaudy, its stones the size of large grapes. Perhaps she would like something more delicate, some pearls perhaps… He stopped himself from perusing the jewel merchant’s wares. There were important tasks at hand, and besides, he and Astrid had barely begun to get to know each other.

They continued on, dodging more pushy salesmen, until they reached their destination. A wooden sign with three mugs of ale hung on either side of the tavern door, proclaiming itself as a drinking establishment. The five of them stepped over the threshold and entered the bar. It was a welcoming environment, and one that they were becoming quite used to, although the dwarvenness of it set it apart from any other place they had previously visited. Torches lined the many stonework columns that stretched up into what would be considered a ceiling. Instead of the traditional wooden beams that normally made up a ceiling, they were amazed to see glistening stalactites hanging down like dragons’ teeth. The shadows they cast were flickering and constantly shifting from the many hearths that lined the large, circular room, and to their left was a small stage upon which two dwarves were singing drunkenly. 

“Welcome to Tapster’s!” came a cheery voice, snapping them all back to the present. They turned to see a young dwarven woman with red braided hair and a kind face. “I see you admiring the architecture! I’m going to hazard a guess you’re not from around here?” She laughed, knowing that it was obvious. “We don’t get too many surfacers in here. In fact, we don’t get any these days. I haven’t seen big folk like yourselves since I was just a girl. Ah, but listen to me prattling on. I bet you’re thirsty from a long journey! With fifty-two types of ales, seventeen types of mead, and a dozen imported wines, we should be able to serve your needs. What'll you have?”

The companions looked at each other and decided that a nice drink would be in order, especially if they were looking for information. As much as he hated to admit it, Alistair knew that Zevran was right. Alcohol was good for loosening tongues, and it might give them all the confidence boost they needed to question people. Not to mention that the last few days of travel had been long and somewhat stressful. “I’ll have some ale,” he said, eyeing the drink list behind the barmaid. “How about that… chestnut lager?” 

“Excellent choice, ser!” The dwarven woman said. “And what about the rest of you?” 

“That pumpkin mead sounds quite nice,” Astrid said. “I’ll have that.”

“A bottle of your finest white wine for the lady and myself!” Zevran said, looking to Calandriel. 

“We have a fine Pinot grigio infused with hints of vanilla and pear,” said the dwarf.

Last to order was Morrigan. She squinted at the menu. “Don’t you have any whiskey?”

The barmaid began to laugh a deep, fruity laugh. “Of course we do! No self-respecting dwarven tavern would be without. I just thought since most surfacers usually can’t handle our stronger stuff… No offense meant, of course! I’ll have your orders brought out to you right away. I’m Corra, by the way. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask!”

The companions surveyed the room and found an empty circular booth to settle into. The high backs of the round stone bench were enough to offer them some privacy, though the booth opened out on one side to the rest of the tavern, giving them a decent view of their surroundings. The place was packed. Nearly every booth and table was crowded with dwarves. They were all talking loudly, dribbling ale into their ornately plaited beards, clapping each other on the backs, or swinging their mugs along with their offkey singing. A few were already passed out, despite it still being somewhat early in the evening. Others were arguing heatedly. _Like mabari fighting over a bone,_ thought Calandriel. 

“What lovely people,” Morrigan drawled sarcastically as they watched a drunken dwarf chase after a woman, his arms outstretched before him as he stumbled. 

“Now, now, my dear Morrigan,” Zevran said. “If you drink enough of this dwarven whiskey you have ordered, you may find yourself acting no differently by the end of the night.”

Morrigan scoffed. “I can handle my drink,” she spat venomously. “You _wish_ I would get drunk and chase after you.” She gave the rogue an easy smile. 

“I cannot deny it!” Zevran chuckled, completely oblivious to the way Calandriel had lowered herself to the point of slouching in the booth. She felt invisible, sitting between the mage and the rogue. 

Astrid picked up on her friend’s discomfort, at least, and changed the subject. “So, let’s discuss our plan of action. Harrowmont said there’s been an increase in gang activity since Bhelen’s death. We should try to mingle here and see what we can find out. By the look of things, dwarves like to drink not just to celebrate, but also to commiserate. And… everything in between,” she added at the end as she glanced around the room. 

“Do you think they’ll just tell us what we want to know, though?” Alistair asked. “I mean, we are strangers, and ‘big folk.’ Dwarves are notorious for their disdain for outsiders.”

“I don’t think we need to worry,” Calandriel said. Her pointed ears had already caught snippets of the latest gossip from the next booth over. It seemed a noble had shamed their family by having an affair with a casteless. The drunken dwarves would tell them anything, whether they wanted to or not. 

At that moment, Corra returned with their drinks balanced expertly on a large round serving platter. She placed their orders before them along with bronze chalices for the wine and then bustled off to attend to a customer that was booming at her. “I TOLD YA, I’M COMING, YA FILTHY NUG-LICKER!” She yelled as she hurried away. 

“So it is as the night we first met,” Zevran said lustily, as he poured a glass of wine for Calandriel and handed it to her. “Let the juices flow as freely as they did that enchanted evening!” 

The elves clinked glasses and Calandriel felt the color rise to her cheeks once again. She took a deep, eager drink of the wine, grateful for its sweet complexity. Zevran drove her wild in so many ways. She wanted him, and yet she felt so uneasy with the way he seemed to shamelessly flirt with everyone. _But that just makes me want him more,_ she thought frustratedly, as she took another swig of the wine and eyed him from the brim of her chalice. She admired his chiseled jaw and the way his tattoos seemed to elegantly caress his fine cheeks. She gazed at his hair--the color of spun gold--and tried imagining him braiding it every morning, for it never looked tangled or frizzy. 

Astrid sipped her pumpkin mead, which had been served in a very large pewter beer stein. It was almost difficult to tilt it to drink from due to its enormous size. She had not expected something so generous, but then again, it was true that dwarves loved to drink. It tasted of honey and cloves and nutmeg and she felt instant comfort wash over her as it began to take effect. Not only did they serve gigantic drinks at Tapster’s, they were strong too. No wonder the place was packed.  


The companions sat chatting amicably for a while, enjoying their drinks, despite the task at hand. They were all weary from so much travel and it felt good just to sit and relax for a while. Calandriel helped herself to a second glass of the delicate Pinot while Morrigan downed her whiskey in a single gulp.

Just then, they were interrupted by the loudest, most gurgling belch that any of them had ever heard. It was a wail akin to a mammoth’s roar. “I see you’re drinkin’ Garbolg’s Backcountry Reserve! My kinda woman,” came a gravelly voice from seemingly out of nowhere. They had all been so wrapped up in conversation that none of them had noticed the dwarf now standing at the edge of their table. He looked about average height for one of his kind, with untamed, flaming red hair and a vacant expression. Unlike most dwarves, he did not wear a traditional beard. The hair from his cheeks had been carefully combined with that of his long mustache and twisted into a set of thick braids. 

“Excuse me?” Morrigan arched an eyebrow, slowly rounding on the newcomer. 

“You ought to try the Dragon’s Piss next!” the dwarf exclaimed. “Finest whiskey in the place. I should know. I practically live here.” He said the words with such pride. “Name’s Oghren. You folk don’t look like you’re from around here.”

“What an astute observation,” Morrigan quipped. 

“Hehe, I’ve been told I’m pretty good at puttin’ two and two together,” Oghren grinned. “So what brings you surfacers down here to Orzammar of all places? Shouldn’t yeh be up there with yer heads in the clouds and what not?” He attempted to take a drink from the mug that he was holding, but noticing that it was empty, he flagged down the barmaid by clapping a hand on her behind. 

She slapped him hard across the face. “What now, Oghren?” 

“I’ll have a round of Dragon’s Piss for my new friends here! Move over, Blondie,” he added as he forced his way into the booth next to Astrid, who slid as close to Alistair as she possibly could. The dwarf grunted as he struggled to hoist his overlarge gut under the table. They were all too buzzed now to protest, and besides, isn’t this what they came for? To get the inside scoop from one of Orzammar’s own? 

“We’re here on business,” said Alistair, trying hard to mask the disgust in his voice. 

Oghren did not seem to notice. “Ah, sod off! No surfacers come to Orzammar to do business. If they try, the guards don’t let ‘em in. You lot must be somethin’ special.” His beady, bloodshot eyes scanned the table. “You sure do travel with a lot of beautiful ladies, don’t ya, there, Hunky? And what might _your_ name be, miss? Hehe.” He gazed drunkenly at Zevran, his eyes out of focus. 

Calandriel spat out her drink and started shaking with silent laughter. Zevran nudged her and played along. He raised his voice as high as he could and said, “I am Zerlina. An innocent maid just past her first blush!” He batted his eyelashes enticingly at the dwarf. 

“You Antivan?” Oghren grunted, one of his eyes squinting comically. “I hear all the men over there are fruits! How about I show you what a _real_ man looks like?”

“By the Paragons, Oghren, that _is_ a real man!” Corra had returned, wielding another platter of drinks. She placed a cup before each of them. “Open your eyes, you dimwitted, alcoholic nug-brain!”

“Corra, please! How can you insult the lady like that?” Oghren said, gesturing. He took a great big gulp of the Dragon’s Piss and let out another crude belch. “She’s just jealous of your robust beauty, is all. Big strong arms, like a good dwarf woman! Hehe.” 

“Why, I am so flattered by your advances, kind ser,” Zevran responded in coy falsetto. “But I am already taken by another!” He wrapped his arms around Calandriel and began to kiss her passionately.

  
[](http://imgur.com/HYaxqDw)   


“Ehhh, it figures all the pretty ones are gay. At least that’s what the women have been tellin’ me.” Oghren sighed. 

_No, it’s not because you are absolutely disgusting and women will say anything to make you leave them alone,_ Morrigan thought with sarcasm once again. 

“I’m not into elves much anyway,” Oghren said, upon noticing the pointed ears of the two now fervidly making out across from him. “They’re all, ‘Look at me! I’m an elf! Trees are _pretty!_ Tra la la!’” He sighed and then seemed to snap back to the present. “Aren’t you all gonna have those drinks or am I gonna have to finish ‘em for ya?”

They had all been so shocked by the dwarf’s larger than life attitude that they had forgotten about the Dragon’s Piss. Alistair for one was reluctant to try it at all. The name was so off-putting and the smell even worse.

“Let’s have a toast! To beautiful women, to better times, to King Harrowmont!” Oghren said as he lifted his mug. 

Morrigan elbowed Calandriel and she and Zevran hesitantly broke apart. Calandriel’s eyelids were heavy now; she was intoxicated from more than just the wine.

Each of them raised their mugs and they clanked them together before taking a drink. Morrigan and Zevran swallowed the whiskey in one long draught while the rest of them coughed and choked on the vile stuff. 

Oghren chuckled at their struggle and wiped his mustache with the back of his hand.

“What can you tell us about King Harrowmont?” Alistair sputtered through the burning in his throat. “And Bhelen for that matter?”

Morrigan stood up suddenly and steadied herself on the edge of the table. She looked as if she might be sick. “I’ll be back,” she managed and made her way towards the restroom. With the witch gone, Zevran and Calandriel resumed their makeout session with renewed fervor. 

Oghren watched them in a daze before getting back to Alistair. “Harrowmont’s a good king, a traditionalist. Bhelen was a fool. Even his own father renounced him. Told him on his deathbed that he’d never be made king. Or so the story goes.” Oghren leaned forward and peered over his large nose into the untouched mug of Dragon’s Piss sitting before the elves. He nonchalantly slid it towards himself and downed it. 

“So how did Harrowmont rise to power then?” Astrid asked, trying to ignore her companions across the table. 

“He was King Endrin’s second in command, and his chosen to inherit the throne. Personally, I’m glad that weak little bastard Bhelen didn’t succeed. He wanted to disband the Assembly, employ casteless in his army, _do away with the whole caste system!_ Bah!” Oghren spat. 

“So Bhelen isn’t popular among traditionalists? Do you think that’s why he got killed?” Astrid asked, leaning closer to Oghren.

“I don’t know about that,” Oghren said, shaking his shaggy head. He curled his finger, beckoning Astrid to hear him whisper. Astrid tried not to inhale his beery breath as he spoke.

“Now I’m here a lot. People will say I’m a drunk, but the good thing about coming here alone every day is that nothing escapes me. One of the hot button issues in this last election has been the Carta. While Harrowmont promised strict orders of arrest and fully funded investigations of drug rings, Bhelen would usually avoid the topic.” Oghren whispered. He took a big swig of ale and looked over each shoulder before continuing.

“Now, there’s some who think Bhelen was leaving the Carta alone. The Carta had the power to influence the lower castes to support him. You’d think just his outspoken ideas about disbanding the system would be enough to influence them, but the folks at the bottom care so little for politics. They don’t care who’s in charge. They just care where their next meal is coming from. Suddenly, at another Assembly debate, Bhelen spouts out a great elaborate plan to catch the Carta and stop the lyrium rings, just like Harrowmont said. So you tell me, do you think it was Harrowmont, who has always been traditional, righteous and just and most trusted by Endrin, or do you think it was the Carta? My money’s on Jarvia. But I shouldn’t say any more about this. You never know who else is listening.” Oghren set his mug down firmly and gave Astrid a wide-eyed look.

“Wow. That does make sense. So what caste are you?” Astrid asked with sincere curiosity. 

“What caste are you?” Astrid asked with sincere curiosity. 

At that, Oghren became very quiet. “I used to be one of the warrior caste,” he began at length. “The most respected of all the castes. I was one of the best. I led a whole series of expeditions into the Deep Roads. Killed at least a thousand darkspawn with my own two hands. I could have been a Paragon. Now? I’m nothin’...” He sighed heavily and lifted the mug he’d just snatched to his lips. Seeing that it was empty, he slammed the cup down clumsily and it spun out of his hand across the table. He stared into space, his now counter-crossed eyes fixated on nothingness..

Astrid and Alistair exchanged a look of concern. 

“If Corra comes back, tell her to give me my usual room…” And with that, the dwarf slumped forward onto the table, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. He let out another obscene belch as he collapsed, disrupting Calandriel and Zevran.

“Ugh! What happened?” Calandriel exclaimed, a look of revulsion on her face. 

Astrid shrugged her shoulders as Alistair tried to wave down Corra. The tavern maid returned his wave with a nod, and then rolled her eyes at the sight of Oghren slumped at the table. 

“Um, Corra, Oghren said you knew of his usual room?” Alistair awkwardly asked. 

“Yes, I do know. The poor wretch stays here often.” Corra said, her annoyance melting into an expression of pity mixed with compassion.

“Does he have any family?” Calandriel asked, looking around the tap room as if someone might come rushing up to claim the drunken dwarf.

Corra shook her head sadly. “Oghren’s wife, Branka, left on an expedition into the Deep Roads with their entire family except for him. That was three years ago. Poor soul.”

“He said he used to be a warrior,” Astrid quietly ventured.

Corra waved a hand casually, indicating that Oghren would not hear them. “The key word there being _used_ ,” Corra said. “After Branka left, Oghren got into a First Blood duel for her honor, but killed his opponent. He’s been forbidden to carry a weapon within city limits ever since. Alright, let’s get him up.”

Before Alistair was out of his seat, Corra had already taken hold of Oghren underneath his arms and lifted him up. Astrid was impressed with her deft strength. Perhaps she could learn a thing or two from the women here. Alistair was left with Oghren’s feet and picked them up, following Corra through the room and down a hallway near the bar. Astrid looked over at Calandriel who was shaking her head.

“What did I say? Rude. Crude. Alcoholic.” Calandriel said, expressionless. 

Zevran shook his head. “I feel for the man, even if he is a dwarf. It is one thing to lose one’s family, but to have them all leave you behind deliberately? Such anguish surely drives him to drink.”

Astrid wrinkled her nose, “He was pretty nasty. But he did share a little information! At least not everyone in Orzammar is upset with the new king. Maybe we can get him to tell us more tomorrow.”

“What’s going on tomorrow?” Alistair asked, rejoining the group. He picked up his tankard and drained the last of his chestnut lager, now room temperature. 

Astrid turned to him with a coy smile. “I was just thinking that we might follow up with this Oghren fellow tomorrow. It seems he doesn’t have a lot of friends and nothing to lose, so he probably has a lot of dirt about the city.”

Alistair nodded. “That sounds good. The barmaid did say she has one spare room tonight. I’m just not sure how we’ll all fit.”

Calandriel smiled. “Were the beds small? It’s still not too late. We can still look around the Commons and see if there is anywhere else more accommodating.”

“Well, let’s go, then.” Alistair said. 

Zevran clapped him on the back. “I shall pay our tab.” he said with a wink.

Alistair opened his mouth to protest, but then waved a hand. “I’m just going to imagine that it’s coming out of your, um, severance from the Crows.”

Zevran burst into a fit of laughter. “Yes, indeed. They left me an excellent benefits package.” The elf strode off toward Corra, who was filling tankards behind the bar. They all knew Zevran was an excellent pickpocket. In better times, Alistair might have objected, but he knew that they needed whatever money they could get and tried to ignore it. 

“By the way, where’s Morrigan?” Alistair asked, noticing that with just Calandriel and Astrid, the party seemed awfully small. 

“I’ll find her,” Calandriel said. She got up out of the booth and walked towards the ladies room. As she passed the bar, Zevran gave her a terribly cheesy head nod. She put a hand up to her mouth, stifling a giggle. Calandriel walked down the hallway behind the bar and despite the din of the tap room, could hear horrific groans coming from one doorway. She promptly walked in.

“Morrigan?” she asked, already knowing that Morrigan was in the room. Calandriel pulled a curtain to the side and saw Morrigan’s thin frame crouched over the chamber pot. Corra hadn’t been kidding about the whiskey, then. Calandriel had seen her fair share of drunken students back at the Circle Tower, and had been one herself from time to time. Morrigan’s brow glistened and wisps of her bangs clung to her forehead. 

“I feel terrible,” the witch croaked. Calandriel physically sat Morrigan up with her back against the cool stone wall. 

“Keep your feet on the ground,” Calandriel said, stepping up to the stone basin behind her. There was an ewer of water standing next to the basin. Calandriel, not caring about propriety, held the spout of the ewer up to Morrigan’s mouth and slowly tipped it, allowing her to drink a few swallows of water. The witch coughed and sputtered, but then took a deep breath. 

“Better?” Calandriel asked, still holding the ewer at the ready. 

Morrigan nodded her head without a word. Calandriel grabbed Morrigan’s twisted branch of a staff and held it out to her and offered her hand on the other side. Pulling herself up with her staff, Morrigan lost her balance as she stood up. Wobbling forward, Morrigan stumbled and clutched Calandriel’s shoulders before she fell. 

“You okay?” Calandriel asked, bending down to try and meet Morrigan’s golden eyes. “I’ve got you.”

Morrigan sniffed and nodded weakly. She raised her head and looked at Calandriel. The elf could see broken capillaries beneath the witch’s eyes.

“Calandriel,” Morrigan whispered, actually quite audibly. She could not tell how loud she was being. “Is this what friends do?”

Calandriel was taken aback by how earnest Morrigan looked. She couldn’t help but smile. “Yes,” she said. “This is what friends do. They help look out for one another.” Calandriel thought she saw Morrigan start to smile. 

“I-I have no friends. And no family. My mother wants to kill me.” Morrigan confessed, wide eyes boring into Calandriel’s. Was she drunkenly making things up? Or had Morrigan’s sense of secrecy been lost in her state? 

“It’s alright. Let’s go find the others, okay?” Calandriel thought it would be best to get Morrigan to a safe and private space before she spoke to anyone else. 

“Alright. Promise you won’t tell anyone.” Morrigan sighed as she slowly stepped forward. 

“I promise,” Calandriel said, walking closely behind the witch. She wasn’t sure if she was talking about friends or her mother, but it was probably best Calandriel kept her mouth shut about the whole thing. The group would be able to tell what had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to draw Oghren seated at the table as well, as described in the story, but there was no way I could get that perspective down. I also used some seriously crappy colored pencils so the whole thing looks a little crayon-y.


	18. The Carta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The companions are confronted by Bhelen's assassins.

Astrid saw Calandriel and Morrigan emerge from the narrow hallway and gave the elf a knowing glance. Zevran had settled up and the five of them left the tavern. It seemed like things were just getting going, as many patrons had sidled into their booth as soon as the party stood to leave. As Calandriel stepped out into the street of the Commons, she was amazed at how stark a difference just a few hours had made. All of the shops were closed, carts gone, and stands boarded up for the night, locked with chains and padlocks. She couldn’t see anyone on the street. Just a few dwarves stood outside of Tapster’s entrance for some fresh air. Or fresher air at least.

Still not knowing exactly where to go, the Wardens, Zevran, and Morrigan slowly made a left outside of Tapster’s and continued to walk down the abandoned street. 

“Maybe we should go back,” Astrid said, touching her daggers behind her back. 

“One would think as fond as these dwarves are of drink that there might be another establishment open at this hour,” Zevran replied, his eyes darting to and fro. 

They wandered on until the street narrowed and continued into a shady looking neighborhood. There were no dweomer glow lamps alight here. They couldn’t see very far ahead anymore. 

“I believe we may be approaching a residential area.” Alistair said. “We should turn around. Orzammar may have a curfew right now with the way King Harrowmont was talking,” The knight eyed the area dubiously. He rested his right hand on his sword hilt lightly. Alistair turned on his heel. Within seconds, he felt his knees buckle as someone kicked his legs from behind. He stumbled to his knees.

“Who’s there!?” Zevran called in a deadly whisper. 

Astrid and Calandriel saw figures rushing toward them in the dark. Calandriel waved her staff until it emitted a glow. She could see the illuminated faces of a band of rough looking dwarves. 

“Do you tall sons of bitches think you’re clever, sniffing around at Tapster’s?” one of them taunted, swinging an axe at Zevran, who dodged it quickly. 

“You sound like someone who is hiding something,” Zevran said quietly, a small dagger in each hand. 

Morrigan steadied herself as best she could, fighting a wave of nausea. She pointed her staff at one of the ruffians she could make out in the dim glow. 

“Your magic wand doesn’t scare me, girlie!” he laughed. Morrigan snarled and physically poked the dwarf in the eye with the end of her staff, wavering slightly from the impact. He doubled over, clutching at his eye. 

Alistair, who was back up on his feet by now, drew his longsword and tried to shout out amidst the commotion, but no one could hear him. 

Now a woman’s voice could be heard in the mix, and it wasn’t Astrid, Calandriel, or Morrigan as far as Alistair could tell.

“Ease up, boys. Let’s give our visitors a little hospitality, alright?”

As Calandriel heard the woman approaching the fight, she extinguished her staff and hurried over to where she thought Morrigan was. 

“Morrigan, we need to go.” Calandriel whispered urgently. Before Morrigan could say anything else, Calandriel cast an invisibility spell over the two of them. She tugged on Morrigan’s wrist. Calandriel looked back and prayed silently that Alistair, Astrid, and Zevran could manage on their own for a few minutes. Both Calandriel and Morrigan were skilled at moving quietly and the elf could see fairly well in the dark. When they had gotten a safe distance away from the melee, Calandriel braced Morrigan’s shoulders and whispered, “I wasn’t just kissing Zevran tonight.”

Morrigan, reflexes still somewhat slow, blinked and shook her head. “Now isn’t exactly the time to be discussing your personal life, Calandriel!” The brisk walk and adrenaline seemed to have sobered her. It had been some time since they all had left Tapster’s. 

Calandriel huffed in frustration. “I mean to say that I was eavesdropping. Zevran was, too. We were kissing so it would look like we weren’t paying attention. I heard Astrid and Oghren talking about the gang. He thinks Jarvia and the Carta are the ones who killed Bhelen because they knew it could easily be pegged on Harrowmont!””

“Well that’s nice,” Morrigan said sarcastically. Her brief intoxicated feelings of camaraderie towards Calan had long since passed. 

“I bet that’s her. They were saying in the bar that she has been running the lyrium rings for years and for some reason has never been caught, so maybe she was paying King Endrin’s guards some kickbacks. We need to go tell King Harrowmont!”

“And leave them to fend for themselves?” Morrigan asked.

“You know our powers are useless against the dwarves. We have to trust that they can hold their own for a while.” Calandriel said, trying not to sound as worried as she felt. 

The two mages hurried around the street of the Commons to the other side. Calandriel and Morrigan hurried up to the door of the Diamond Quarter. Two guards stood on either side of the double door. Calandriel quickly muttered a counter spell, making them visible again. The guards’ eyes grew wide at the appearance of the two women. 

“Who are you?!” one of them shouted.

“Folgred, I think they are the Grey Wardens that His Majesty brought in this afternoon.”

Calandriel was panting heavily. “There’s little time! We have found Jarvia. She and the Carta have attacked the rest of the Wardens.”

“You’re sure?” Folgred asked. “She has not been known to be seen by anyone lately.”

“I’m almost positive. Please come follow us.” Calandriel pleaded.

* * *

Astrid was curled on the ground in the dark. Was she missing a tooth? Blood was oozing from her mouth and she covered it with a gloved hand to try and stop the flow. Outnumbered, the Carta gang had really let them have it.

“That’s much better. I thank you all for having a seat with me,” the female dwarf cooed in the darkness. 

Astrid did not know where Calandriel and Morrigan had run off to, but they had left them in the pitch darkness completely surrounded by the hoodlums.

“Pray tell,” Zevran grunted, also clearly in pain by the sound of it, “What is our crime?”

“Your crime. Where to begin?” The woman’s low voice rang out again as Astrid heard her stepping around them. Her cronies had all backed off and silently stood behind her. Astrid strained her ears trying to hear if Alistair was breathing. He hadn’t spoken for some time. 

“Today, everyone in the Commons, the Diamond Quarter, and even us here in Dust Town heard about some sunbaked surfacers being allowed into our city. Surely they wanted a favor from the new king. But King Harrowmont is a firm fellow. Probably sent those cloud-heads to do his dirty work before he would even speak to them.”

Astrid was breathing through her nose, taking shallow breaths. Everywhere hurt. The gang had kicked her to the ground, snatching her daggers and with a tug on her braid, punched her in the mouth. They must have been vastly outnumbered if even Zevran hadn’t been able to outpace them. 

“Then I hear from my boys that the big folks are stomping around the bar, asking questions, failing horribly at blending in. I’m a cautious woman. Wary of strangers, you could say.” Astrid could not tell what the woman looked like, but she tensed up every time she paced by. Just a nudge with the toe of her boot had sent Astrid reeling, her flesh raw with bruises.

“Is Orzammar always so with newcomers?” Zevran asked, his voice slightly stronger but still coming from low on the ground, the same level as Astrid was. 

“Yes. Most definitely. Especially strangers who meet with the King first of all. I’ve worked very hard to get to where I am. Prince Bhelen understood that. As a so-called casteless sympathizer, he went behind his father’s back and told his guards to accept small… tokens of appreciation from the Carta. In return, I spread rumors about Harrowmont. The Kings may be ceremonial figures of authority, but I have this city in my hands. People believe what they hear from me. So Bhelen grew more and more popular as nasty lies spread about Harrowmont.”

Astrid wriggled around, trying to see if she could detect any sign of Calandriel or Morrigan. Surely they knew some helpful spell. Had they planned to ditch the group when they had been in the bathroom at Tapster’s? Astrid didn’t think they could be so cold hearted. She hoped they were alright.

“So one day, Bhelen meets with me, disguising his way into Dust Town. He said ‘Jarvia, I want the best opportunities for the casteless, but I just can’t turn a blind eye anymore. The people of Orzammar are fearful of the Carta and I need to show that the Aeducans can take a bite out of crime. I nodded, I sympathized. I asked him to give me a few days to disband a few operations. That was that.” Astrid still had no idea who this woman was or why she was telling them all this. She was thinking strangely of her parents, of Highever and Arl Howe’s betrayal, and most of all, of Alistair. Was this gang woman telling her story before she killed them all? Astrid swallowed, a mix of blood, dirt, and saliva making an iron taste in her mouth. She didn’t even know if Alistair was still alive.

“But,” the woman said, also seizing Astrid’s braid and tugging. “That was Bhelen’s mistake. He underestimated me. Thought that he could begin arresting my boys the next week. Bhelen was nothing without me, so, we got his house security doped up on lyrium and killed the sodding bastard.”

All of a sudden a great brassy horn resounded in the distance. Astrid’s ears rang from the loud noise, making her want to vomit. 

“You are under arrest by King Harrowmont!!” a man’s voice called out. Astrid heard dozens of boots tromping on the ground rushing towards the neighborhood. A few torches bounced in the distance.

Calandriel and Morrigan dashed up to the front of the host of guards led by Dulin Forender. The two mages cast illuminating spells, each emitting a blinding light from their staff. Dulin charged forward at a sprint, his sword raised high as his fellow guardsmen and women followed behind. Calandriel saw a dark haired woman scrambling towards the back streets of the neighborhood in the distance, almost out of sight of the glow of her staff. Other figures were scattering in the light, trying to escape. 

Dulin tackled the dark haired woman to the ground and two officers clicked fisticuffs around her wrists.

“Finally gotcha, Jarvia,” Dulin said, gasping for breath. Calandriel and Morrigan now shone their lights around the dark street and alleys of Dust Town, searching for their friends. At last, Calandriel saw Zevran, crouched on the ground, still on his feet, but clutching at his sides. To his right a yard away, Alistair was sprawled out, a great gash on his forehead bleeding out and encrusting into his hair. Ten paces away to the right, Astrid lay on the ground, curled up in a fetal position and clutching her mouth. Calandriel bounded towards Zevran, gently holding his shoulders as the city guards marched past them to assist in the arrest. 

“Oh, Zevran. What happened to you? Please tell me so I can heal you!” Tears welled up in Calandriel’s eyes. She saw that Zevran was clutching at his rib cage on either side.

“I will be just fine,” Zevran said, managing a weak smile at the sight of his lady. “I’ve definitely had worse fights. At least I am still conscious, no?” he began to laugh until he gritted his teeth in the pain it caused. Calandriel swung her staff down nearly parallel to the ground and helped Zevran to sit down. She incanted a healing spell, waving her staff in slow circles in front of the elf. After that, she palpated his sides, trying to pinpoint any fractures.

Meanwhile, Morrigan was making the same ministrations and assessments of Alistair and Astrid. Astrid had a split lip and her back and legs were tender with bruising. The Carta hadn’t been easy on them. Alistair appeared to have no other injuries besides the head wound. It just had caused him to pass out early on compared to Zevran and Astrid. Morrigan, still not feeling the best herself, tried to calm her stomach and focus on the healing that needed to be done.

Calandriel looked up to see Dulin Forender approaching them as the woman, presumably Jarvia, was carried off by four guards. 

“Please, His Majesty’s guards will assist you all and accompany you back to the estate.” Dulin said, actually placing a hand on Calandriel’s back. He looked at she and Zevran with genuine concern. Calandriel nodded, and extending a hand, helped lift Zevran to his feet. She looked over to see that Morrigan was holding up Astrid and steadying her. 

Astrid saw Alistair on the ground and cried out. She lunged towards him, but Morrigan held her back. “He’ll be alright. I’ve stopped the bleeding,” Morrigan whispered to Astrid. “We are all going back to King Harrowmont. I think he’d want you to take care of yourself first.”

Paired up, Calandriel, Zevran, Astrid, and Morrigan hobbled to the opposite side of the Commons once again to enter the Diamond Quarter. Four of Harrowmont’s officers carried Alistair slowly behind them. What a night it had been.


	19. Is He Hardened?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Astrid and Alistair find themselves having to share a room, things get juicy.

The companions were accompanied to Harrowmont’s study, where Calandriel lowered Zevran onto a plush chaise lounge. Astrid refused to sit until it could be made clear whether or not Alistair was alright. Morrigan bent over his limp body, which the dwarves had lain on another chaise, her ample breasts threatening to spill out of her scant top while she worked. Astrid tried hard to pay them no heed as she watched the witch move her hands up and down his body, channeling healing magic. 

“Let me help,” Calandriel said, when she had deemed that there was no more she could do for Zevran at present. “My focus at the Circle was healing.” She too outstretched a hand and placed it over Alistair’s forehead, which began to glow with a soft bluish-white light. 

Astrid relaxed as the knight began to stir and open his eyes once again. He smiled up at her and she instantly felt the grip of tension in her shoulders ease up a bit. The sensation was replaced by sudden pain, however, as she remembered her own wounds. She breathed in sharply through her teeth. 

“Astrid, Are you alright?” Alistair said, attempting to pull himself up from the lounge chair.

Calandriel gently pushed him back into a seated position and moved closer to the rogue woman. She placed her hands on either side of Astrid’s neck and closed her eyes, summoning magic from deep within. The same bluish-white light flooded Astrid’s skin and sent a cool, prickling sensation all throughout her body. She could not even begin to describe the way in which she felt her flesh knitting back together and the rush of comfort it gave her. Astrid smiled in spite of herself as the elf stepped back once again. “You’re very good at that,” she said with amazement. “But… How is it you could not heal yourself when your leg was injured?”

“Mages cannot heal themselves. They can only be healed with potions or by another mage,” she nodded to Morrigan. “And… cheeky elves who happen to be very skilled with their hands,” she added, looking to Zevran. 

Just then, the great doors to the study were slowly swung open. King Harrowmont strode toward them, his thick grey beard, which had been so intricately woven into braids earlier in the day, now streamed freely against his barrel-chest. He was wearing a silk robe, indicating he had been abed. “So it is true,” he said, astonishment in his voice. “You have captured the leader of the Carta and cleared my name in a single evening. There were many that heard the confession.” He glanced around the room at each of them. “Wardens, it would be my honor to assist you in ending the Blight. I will begin to make the arrangements for an army at once. If there is anything else you would ask of me, please do so. I will give you the night to think on it. For now, you deserve rest. I invite you to stay here at my estate. Dulin will see that you are made comfortable.” With that, the king strode out and disappeared. 

“You have impressed the king beyond measure,” Dulin said at Harrowmont’s departure. “We are truly grateful for the swift justice you have brought to Orzammar. Now, what kind of accommodations are we looking at? Will three rooms be sufficient?”

“Yes,” Calandriel said suddenly, before Alistair and Astrid could protest. She glanced at Astrid, whose mouth was still open from attempting to speak and gave her a knowing look. “Three rooms will be perfect.” She smiled deviously. 

“Right this way,” said Dulin, and they followed him through the labyrinthian network of halls that made up the Harrowmont estate. If they had found the other parts of Orzammar to be impressive, they were nothing compared to this. The floors were made up of thousands of different colored tiles fitted together into complex geometric patterns. Walls were adorned with vibrant mosaics depicting the Paragons. Rubies, sapphires, diamonds and gold glittered in the torchlight that illuminated the halls. Calandriel glanced back at Zevran and could see him practically drooling. _If he steals something, I swear,_ she thought. Finally, Dulin led them to a series of guest rooms. 

“Well, it looks like you two ladies will be having a slumber party tonight,” said Alistair as they stood trying to figure out who would be sleeping where. 

“Perhaps it should be us _men_ ,” Zevran said silkily into Alistair’s ear. He was so close, Alistair physically started at the feeling of the rogue’s hot breath on his neck. 

“Where did you _come_ from!?” Alistair said, leaping away from him. 

“Well, you all can stand here debating about which one of you wants to get with whom until the sun comes up, but _I’m_ going to bed. _Alone_.” Morrigan said and slipped into the nearest room, slamming the door shut as she went. 

“Well…” Calandriel began. “See you in the morning!” She grinned at Astrid and then disappeared behind one of the other doors with Zevran, who winked at them just before closing the door with a soft click. 

“Right,” said Alistair. He turned the crystal knob on the remaining door and gestured for Astrid to go in. “Shall we?”

They entered the room, which had been hastily prepared for them with fresh linens and a crackling fire. A large embellished rug lay on the floor and all around them hung oil paintings in gilt frames. Astrid wandered over to them, fascinated. Instead of landscapes of rolling green hills and farmhouses like the ones her parents had had hanging at Highever, the paintings depicted caverns, glittering with stalactites and stalagmites and glowing eerily with phosphorescent deep mushrooms. They were strangely beautiful. _I suppose without land, there can be no landscapes,_ she thought. _Cavescapes, I guess you’d call them._ She walked over to another painting, which depicted dwarven warriors rallying to fight a mighty dragon. _An Arch-demon?_ she wondered. 

“You can take the bed,” Alistair said as he removed the last of his heavy armor. “I can sleep in this armchair.”

“No,” Astrid said, returning to the present. “You’ve been through a lot today. And so have I. We can just share. I mean, look at the size of this thing! There’s plenty of room for two--even three--people!” She clambered onto the enormous bed and could not stop herself from bouncing up and down a few times. 

Alistair stared, his mouth agape. 

“What? You look as if you’ve just seen a hurlock!” Astrid said before glancing down. “Oh, damn!” She noticed that one of the leather straps of her bodice had snapped. Without it, her ample bosoms could no longer stay properly hoisted. While she normally tried to maintain some semblance of propriety, she could do so no longer. The tops of her milky white breasts could be seen clearly as she plopped down onto the edge of the bed and jostled to reattach the strap. 

“No,” Alistair said, as he approached her. He lowered his voice. “Leave it.” He put a hand on her shoulder and took the strap, gently letting it fall. 

Astrid gazed up at him, her breath quickening as her eyes met his. He was stripped down to his white linen shirt and brown breeches now. She wished it was nothing. Her eyes continued to follow him as he slowly knelt down before her until their heads were level. The bed had been designed by dwarves, after all, and was therefore very low to the ground. 

Alistair broke eye contact with Astrid to marvel at her body. She could almost feel the way his eyes trailed down and back up again. He gazed again into her eyes with a look that said, _May I?_ and she nodded shyly. Alistair began to undo the lacings of her brown leather bodice, his hands surprisingly steady for one who was usually so nervous around women. It felt like an eternity for him to pull the leather thongs out one by one until he could remove the bodice completely. He tossed it aside and it fell onto the floor with a gentle thud. 

[ ](http://imgur.com/VzzgJCQ)

Next was the sleeveless linen shirt she wore to protect herself from the roughness of the leather. He hesitated briefly before cupping each of her still-clothed breasts in one of his strong hands. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh of pleasure, which urged the knight onward with confidence. He began to massage the nipples until he could feel them become aroused and he could stand it no longer. 

Astrid helped him pull the linen shirt up over her head, exposing her breasts completely. She reached behind and pulled the tie from her hair that held it in a messy braid and untangled it quickly. Her wavering locks fell across her shoulders, draping her breasts in a golden cascade. Alistair tore off his shirt, revealing the muscular chest and abs that were a testament to their long, arduous travels. Overcome by his passion, he took one of her breasts greedily in his mouth and began to kiss and to suck. Astrid cried out with bliss, pulling him closer, as she ran her fingers through his soft, sandy hair. 

He helped guide her further into bed and lowered himself on top of her. She cradled him between her legs, which were still partially covered by the skirt that she wore. Their lips met as they kissed endlessly. The knight’s kisses were urgent, intense. His lips traced the edge of her jaw, caressed her ears, and trailed down her neck. Every breath against her skin sent a tingle of desire throughout her body. She could feel his hardened package pressed against the leather flaps of her studded skirt and she knew she wanted him.

Suddenly, they could hear voices. Alistair stopped his exploration, just as his tongue had reached the base of Astrid’s navel. They both paused, straining themselves to make out whatever the sound was. Perhaps some of Jarvia’s people had found their way into the estate, seeking revenge? 

Whatever they were saying, they were not speaking in the common tongue. Alistair tilted his head in an attempt to hear better. “Is that--?”

“Antivan,” Astrid finished. “And Elvish.” The two looked at each other as they listened silently to the voices rising from the next room. In addition to the passionate wailings, there was also a steady rhythm against the wall that got quicker and quicker until Zevran let out a sigh of release.

“That dirty, filthy philanderer!” Alistair said, annoyed. “Does he ever get tired?”

Astrid couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t think so,” she said. 

Alistair sighed and rolled apart from Astrid, laying back on the bed. “Now all I can think about is that elf…” He shuddered. “ _You_ don’t find him attractive, do you?”

Astrid sat up and let her hair cover her chest. “You’re joking, right?” she said. “I could not look at anyone like that as long as you were around.”

At that, Alistair sat up as well, resting against the headboard of the bed. He smiled at her words but sighed simultaneously. “I’m sorry, Astrid. I don’t think I’m ready to go any further tonight. Forgive me.”

Astrid took one of the knight’s hands and gave it a squeeze. “You’ve no need to apologize,” she said earnestly. “I would wait an eternity for you.”

Alistair grinned his sheepish grin and kissed her once again before the two made themselves more comfortable and drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make up some rules about healing that may not actually be true to the DA universe, but that I feel make for good limitations at least within our story. If mages could just completely heal themselves and everybody else, they'd have a quick fix for everything all the time, and that just seems a little too convenient for me. Here's how I see it:
> 
> Mages can't heal themselves.  
> They can be healed by other mages or by potions.  
> Most mages can only heal wounds, but can't do a whole lot for pain, unless they're using a potion or poultice.  
> Calandriel is particularly gifted when it comes to healing, so she is able to ease pain as well as close wounds.
> 
> One more note: the chapter title is a nod to this delightful opus, which has been stuck in my head for days now: [Is He Hardened? by paroo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2QPQBM3fajc)


	20. Good Morning, Orzammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The women go to the Shaperate to gather information. Alistair and Zevran "bond" at the Proving Arena. Oghren joins the party.

The next morning, they awoke to find that their armor had been replaced. The new articles of clothing were accompanied by notes that explained their old armor was just being repaired and would be returned to them shortly. Alistair had nearly had a heart attack when he couldn’t find his silverite suit, which was extremely valuable despite how beaten up it had gotten over time. The notes also explained that they should meet Harrowmont in the great hall for breakfast. 

Astrid picked up the pieces of clothing that had been left for her and felt the supple leather between her fingers. It was a peachy pink, likely nugskin. The beasts were rampant underground. Worked into the leather were delicate, swirling stitchings of gold thread that glimmered in the firelight. It came with a matching skirt and tall lace up boots, all of which fit as if they had been made for her overnight. The pauldrons, elbow guards and wrist bracers were made of a lightweight golden material that made her feel as if she was adorning herself with jewelry rather than armor. _Well, perhaps I am!_ she thought, as she picked up the last piece and put it around her neck. It was a choker-style necklace made of the same pink leather as the rest of her ensemble, set with a single dangling teardrop pearl. 

She turned to Alistair, expecting to see him in a full suit of embellished dwarven armor, but instead he wore a slightly fancier version of his regular clothes. The only difference was perhaps that his pants looked a little tighter. “Silverite is very, _very_ valuable,” he explained when he saw the look on her face. “I doubt they have anything as good as that armor to give me in the interim. And besides, if we’re just going to breakfast, I'd rather not sit at a stone table in a chestplate and greaves. It's not the most comfortable feeling...”

Now that she thought about it, Astrid had noticed the way Alistair’s armor had protected him throughout their travels. It was excellent at deflecting magic, rarely took any visible damage, and the people they bumped into along the road had seemed to instantly respect him, or at least assume that he had a lot of money. She wondered where he’d gotten such costly gear from, that even a king would not have a fine enough replacement for it. Before she could say anything further, there was a knock at the door. “Come in!”

The rest of their companions entered the room, all of them except Morrigan sporting new threads. Calandriel looked resplendent in a white silken gown. The sleeves were long and draped with delicate lace. About her waist was a silver wrought belt and her skirts seemed to swirl effortlessly with each step she took. “Isn’t this beautiful? The note said they did not have anything close to mage robes, considering dwarves don’t produce mages, so they made me this! Wow, look at _your_ outfit!” She admired the leatherwork of Astrid’s new clothing. 

“What about you, Morrigan? Did they not leave something for you?” Astrid asked with genuine concern. 

“Oh, I’m not going to wear _that_!” Morrigan scoffed. “You should have seen it! A scanty little piece of _drapery_ that left nothing to the imagination!”

Unsure of whether or not she was being serious, the companions decided to head toward the great hall. Thankfully, as soon as they spilled out of the room, a serving dwarf appeared to help them navigate the estate. Without such help, they probably would have gotten lost in the many twists and turns. 

“Ah, the heroes of Orzammar!” came Harrowmont’s voice as they entered the hall. A dozen vast stone tables filled the space, with one upon a dais where the king now sat. “Come and join me. I trust your new garb fits you properly. I had it commissioned in the night, based on your old designs.” They walked up to the dais between the unoccupied benches, Harrowmont’s voice echoing around them. He gestured for them to sit across the table with him. “Although I apologize to you, my dear fellow Alistair, as we had nothing that would rival armor of that calibre. I trust you will be pleased with our improvements, though. A few enchanted runes here and there…”

They seated themselves and waited while more serving dwarves filtered into the hall, carrying platters. Soon, the table was covered with a hundred different dishes, which they eyed longingly. 

“Go on, you’ve earned it!” laughed the king. At his approval, they covered their plates with fried nug strips, potato pie, egg and beet quiche and whatever else was at hand. “Now then. I suppose you will be departing soon. Is there anything else that you might require on your journey?”

They sat chewing and thinking, but remained silent. All except for Astrid. “We met this fellow… Oghren. He said he used to be one of the warrior caste, but isn’t anymore.”

“Ah yes, that disgraceful fellow. What he did was a grave offense,” said the king. 

Astrid chewed on her lip, but chanced it. “Can you restore him back to the warrior caste?”

The rest of her companions dropped their forks and knives and stared at her in disbelief. 

If Harrowmont was surprised, he hid it well. Already a stoic man, his career in dwarven politics had trained him to conceal his feelings. He waved a piece of fried nug skewered on his fork as he turned to Astrid.

“How has Oghren endeared himself to you? And in just a day? I respect you Wardens vastly, and I shall forever be indebted to you for assisting me, but I think perhaps you do not understand our customs and how seriously he violated them.”

Astrid looked from side to side, but her companions all seemed abnormally occupied with eating and staring at their plates. She thought she saw Morrigan gesturing with a twirling finger next to her temple. 

Taking a sip of mead, Astrid cleared her throat. “Your Majesty,” she said, “If we did not meet him, we would not have so quickly known who to look for. He was very helpful in directing us to the Carta.”

The king raised a bushy eyebrow. “Well how do you know that he wasn’t involved with them if he knew so much?” He smiled at her. Astrid was reminded of her history and politics lessons with her father. Knowing that she had the chance to be Teyrna of Highever, or marry into power, Teyrn Bryce Cousland would quiz his daughter and give her hypothetical scenarios in which to act. 

Astrid shook her head. “He doesn’t really seem the subtle and secretive type. And without his weapon, he couldn’t harm anyone. Was he a very good soldier?”

At this point, Dulin Forender, who was sitting on the other side of Harrowmont, interjected.

“Oghren was the best! He was a berserker. Seemingly without technique or strategy, he madly ran into battles and slew darkspawn like they were baby nugs.” Dulin spoke in excitement.  
The king gave the lieutenant a significant look, at which Dulin sat back in his chair and nodded back. 

“I may consider it, if you truly believe he is worthy of the caste. Now, what plans do you have before you move on up to the surface? Or shall you take the Deep Roads? Certainly more dangerous, but if you were looking to get back East, you could catch a ship at the port in Jader.” King Harrowmont said. He seemed determined to steer the conversation away from Oghren.

“I really would like to read some records and documents at the Shaperate, if I may. I’ve heard of its vast resources all the way from Highever, where I grew up.” Astrid said. “I know my companion here, Calandriel, would probably like to visit there as well. If we may trespass upon your hospitality for one more day,” Astrid asked the king.

“Of course, of course!” Harrowmont beamed. “You might talk to the Shaper himself about our caste edicts and the process of changing caste if it interests you. But we do have extensive records regarding all our dealings with the darkspawn down there.”

“You are most kind.” Calandriel spoke, leaning her head over so that she could meet the king’s eyes.

“Well, I had best be getting on with my day.” Harrowmont said as he rose, brushing crumbs off of his brocade breeches. “There is a great Proving today that I must oversee. Now, if any of you wish to join me, you are most welcome. We are very proud of our fighters here in Orzammar.”

Zevran quickly stood up and flexed his biceps in the air. “I do love athletics and _physical_ sport! A conditioned body is quite appealing, and I am most eager to see the best fighting techniques. I shall join you, Your Majesty.” Zevran walked out from behind the table and began to kick his legs and stretch, as though he would be competing in the Proving Games himself.  
King Harrowmont furrowed his brows at the eccentric elf, but mustered a good natured laugh. Astrid smiled over at Alistair. She knew he would probably love to see the Provings, even if it meant being around Zevran. She remembered how he told her of his dreams of being a hero, of glorious battles before he realized the reality of being a templar. Alistair walked around to the front of the table and stood before Astrid. Pausing slightly, he placed his hand on hers. At his touch, Astrid instantly recalled the night before, and felt her stomach flip. 

“I’ll see you later,” Alistair said quietly. “Astrid.” he said, pausing before he said her name. Astrid murmured something unintelligible as he walked away to catch up with Zevran and King Harrowmont. 

“Well, I should be seeing about Jarvia’s trial and speaking to the guards for today’s orders. But I will inform the Shaperate of your presence, ladies. If there is anything else you might need, I should be here or down in the guards’ barracks throughout the day.” Dulin said, and with a genteel bow, he also left the dining hall. 

“Alright ladies,” Calandriel said. “Let’s hit the books!” Astrid and Calandriel were both in lively moods and eager to recall the many events of last night. Calandriel glanced over at Morrigan, though, and felt a pang of sympathy. Maybe they could hold off the on full disclosure of details. Calandriel removed a small tincture of peppermint from her satchel to give to their whiskey-sick friend.

* * *

As Alistair and Zevran followed a heavily guarded King Harrowmont, they heard town criers piping the latest.

“Jarvia arrested after years of Carta activity!” one cried in a sing song voice in the Diamond Quarter.

“King Harrowmont’s coronation date to be announced soon according to estate staff!” another called out as they entered the Commons.

The subjects bowed heads as the king passed by. Harrowmont himself took a determined step and didn’t stop to speak with anyone. Occasionally they could still hear a few jeers from Bhelen fanatics, so the extra security was understandable. 

Crossing a great bridge in the center of the Commons, they finally reached the Proving Grounds. At this point, King Harrowmont turned around and motioned Alistair and Zevran forward.  
He began to speak and the Warden and elf stooped in a conspiratorial way. 

“Now, I must speak with the Proving Grounds staff about security measures and everything, this being my first major public appearance in a while. You two may find a reserved bench near my ceremonial seat if you ask any staff member. See you at the Proving!” Harrowmont said. Clapping them each on the shoulder, he left with his guards to enter the lobby area of the Proving Grounds. 

The lobby was bustling with spectators. Gossip could be heard all around about the fighters as well as the events of the previous night. Alistair grimaced as he heard speculation about the Wardens working for Harrowmont and King Harrowmont losing all self respect by dealing with surfacers. _Well_ , he thought, _you can’t please everybody._ Alongside Zevran, the two started to walk to a door leading to the arena. When they stepped inside, through the throngs of people, they could see many stone benches forming a great balcony encircling a fighting pit. It was enormous and some spectators were already singing and cheering for their favorite fighters, swinging mugs of ale. 

Zevran pointed out the ceremonial seat on the other side of the arena and the two walked in that direction.

“Soooo….” Zevran loudly said to Alistair in a suggestive way. Alistair had been enjoying the silence between them and was almost pleased to be with Zevran. Now he rolled his eyes.

“So, what?” Alistair said.

“So, I heard not one cry of rapturous pleasure, nor a squeal of excitement coming from your chambers last night, my good man.” Zevran said as casually as if he were asking about what they’d had for breakfast.

Alistair snorted derisively. “Oh, how I _wish_ I could say the same for you.” he said, shaking his head. Zevran only chuckled and grasped Alistair’s shoulder in that annoying way of his, not caring at all that the man was trying to wriggle away. They were drawing enough attention as it was, being the only surfacers in the arena.

“Tell me truly, friend,” Zevran asked, “How was your time with the girl? Did you squeeze her plump thighs, or suck on that sweet--”

Alistair spun around and gripped Zevran by the shoulders, shaking him. “Don’t you dare talk about Astrid that way, you perverted Antivan! I am _not_ discussing this with you or ANYONE!”

Unfazed, Zevran swished his silky blonde hair, “No need to fret yourself, my friend. It is simply curious to me how secretive Fereldans are regarding their personal lives.”

“I think you just answered your own inquiry, Zevran.” Alistair said, vexed. “That’s the thing about personal lives. They’re _personal_.”

“How many women have you slept with, handsome Warden?” Zevran continued. “Or men? I am, by all accounts, not one to judge!” At this, Zevran raised his eyebrows up and down.

Alistair avoided his gaze and remained silent, quickening his step.

“Aha!” Zevran called, catching up to his companion. “So the Chantry boy has never done it! The holiest deed of all awaits you, my boy!!” he cried loudly. 

Alistair clutched his hair in exasperation. “SHUT UP! We are in public. This discussion was finished before it started. Please do not ruin his experience for me.” He spat every word, trying with all his might not to begin a Proving of his own up in the stands. 

Zevran wrapped his arm around Alistair’s waist and patted affectionately. “Do not worry, my friend. I can help you along the way! If you’d like me to sit in and watch sometime, I’d be happy to oblige. Perhaps the four of us could...”

Resigned to simply tolerate Zevran’s presence, Alistair gave up on his objections. They finally found their seats near the King’s section and sat down. They had a most advantageous view of the fights. Alistair’s agitated mood faded as he and Zevran asked some nobles seated nearby about the line-up and rules in a Proving Match. 

Back in the Diamond Quarter, the women were in awe as they entered the Shaperate. Stone shelves lined the walls of the entire chamber, and bookshelves filled the room like standing soldiers. Calandriel could even see categories carved into the sides of the shelf in the common tongue as well as in dwarvish runes. Calandriel was impressed at the clean order of the collection, mentally comparing it to the dusty haphazard stacks of the Archives at the Circle Tower. Enclosed in the tower with little to do but study, mages were constantly borrowing tomes and scrolls, trading with friends, or pulling volumes out for preservation purposes. As such, searching for a book was often a great undertaking. Some mages would post lists on their doors of books they were looking for in case one turned up under a bed or forgotten in the necessary. 

Even Morrigan, who had spent the walk to the Shaperate griping about the “dwarvish poison” she’d consumed the night before and everything else terrible about the cave-dwellers, seemed to perk up in the erudite room. There was a central aisle between the two rows of bookshelves. At the end of the aisle in the back of the room sat an elderly dwarf, clothed not in noble finery, armor, or work clothes, but in a simple grey robe. The robe seemed to imitate the dwarf’s long beard that draped unbraided over his chest in streaks of grey and white. He looked up and smiled at the three women.

“You must be some of the Grey Wardens that Dulin mentioned. Welcome to the Shaperate. I am Orzammar’s Shaper.” he said in a soft melodic voice. 

Astrid curtsied in her new nug skin leathers. “We thank you for access to the Shaperate. Especially with us being surfacers and all.” the young noblewoman said.

The Shaper nodded graciously. “It is my belief,” he said, “That most of the problems of Thedas would be solved if everyone simply took the time to read and understand one another’s culture and history.”

Calandriel raised her eyebrows, “That seems like a unique view down here.” she said. The Shaper winked at her with a watery blue eye. 

“Don’t spread it around that I said that. Now, is there anything in particular I can help you ladies find?” the old man asked.

“Yes.” Astrid said promptly. “I’d like to learn all about your caste system, how it came to be, how it works, and if upward mobility is a possibility.” 

The Shaper nodded. “I can tell you all about that myself! Now what about the rest of you?”

“I’d like to look through your accounts of darkspawn attacks and battles as far back as you’ve got them,” Calandriel stated matter-of-factly. 

Morrigan bit her lip tentatively. “Do you have anything on the _Asha’bellanar_?” she asked. At this, Calandriel sharply glanced over at her companion. The woman of many years? Did this have anything to do with Morrigan’s inebriated confession at Tapster’s last night? Calandriel decided not to inquire further at present and followed a clerk to the darkspawn histories and records.

* * *

Zevran and Alistair watched and cheered during the Provings all afternoon. There were one-on-one matches, and up to five members on each team facing off in battle. The Proving ended when blood was drawn. Hardy and courageous, the dwarven men and women who fought used a variety of techniques and fighting styles. Some were mad berserkers, as Dulin had described that lewd Oghren fellow. There were also the Silent Sisters, martial artists so committed and disciplined that they cut out their own tongues upon initiation. Alistair occasionally felt guilty for enjoying the spectacle when there was so much work to be done. He thought of the blight and the rest of the party over at the Shaperate. Then again, Orzammar didn’t frequently open its doors to strangers. Despite Zevran’s initial inappropriate questions, the two enjoyed commenting on each match to each other, marveling at the fighters, or quietly coaching from the stands.

Near the end of the day, when the Proving was finally over, the men walked back towards the arena entrance using the walkway between the benches and balcony ledge instead of the crowded paths above. As they began to ascend the steps to the Grounds doorway, they heard a strangely familiar gravelly voice.

“Heh heh, so you’ve got a swinging stalactite under that skirt after all.” It was Oghren, the ex-warrior they had met at Tapster’s the night before. 

“Hahaha, I most certainly do!” Zevran laughed. The dwarf had been a few steps below them on the staircase. “ _Would you like to have a look under Zerlina’s skirts, Ser Dwarf?_ ” Zevran joked, again affecting a falsetto feminine voice. 

“Ahh, no. I was right about the Antivans at least. So what did you two think of the Provings? I say they’ve gone soft in the past few years. Not enough blood!” Oghren bellowed. He still reeked of ale. Alistair thought surely his level of drunkenness last night would be enough to keep someone abed for days, but he was clearly mistaken. 

“That wasn’t enough blood?” Alistair exclaimed in disbelief. 

“Heh heh. Surfacers. More like sissy-fers! Well lads, I’ll be at the tavern if you two want to talk about the good old Provings.” Oghren farted audibly as he left them. 

Zevran stroked his chin. “Ah, such salt of the earth people,” the Antivan said as the dwarf was lost in the crowd. 

Alistair screwed up his face. “I suppose that’s one way to view him. So I’m not sure if King Harrowmont wanted us to meet him afterwards. Maybe we should go meet up with the others at the Shaperate.”

Alistair and Zevran navigated their way from the Proving Grounds to the Shaperate, slightly delayed by the crowds exiting the arena.When they reached the door of the Shaperate, however, it was locked. No one answered. How late in the day was it? The excitement of the Provings had whiled away the hours. Alistair worried briefly if the others were looking for them. Zevran suggested they return to the Harrowmont Estate to check. Upon arrival inside the home, a servant greeted them. 

“His Majesty is with your companions in his study,” the liveried servant said meekly. He bowed and busily walked away. Zevran led the way to the study. He seemed to remember places and locations faster than Alistair could. They awkwardly entered the room, interrupting the conversation between the king, Calandriel, Astrid, and Morrigan. 

“Sorry we are late.” Alistair said. 

Harrowmont waved a hand dismissively at the remark. “It’s nonsense. We are just having a quick chat. I have my council meeting tonight, so I will not be able to join you at dinner. Seeing as your companions wish to leave tomorrow, I just wanted to clear everything up tonight.” Harrowmont was seated at his desk, but with his stone chair turned around to face them. The Proving appeared to have left the king in good spirits.

Calandriel turned with a straight face to Alistair and Zevran. “His Majesty suggests a cautious foray into the Deep Roads. We Wardens should be able to ascertain how many darkspawn are down there using our tainted senses. Orzammar and other cities along the Deep Roads have nearly always been the first to be affected by a Blight.” Zevran smiled and strode across the study to take Calandriel’s hand and softly kissed it. He whispered something in her ear, making the rest of them eager to continue talking.

Morrigan held up a map for them all to see. “It shouldn’t be a long journey through the Deep Roads if we can keep quiet.” With this remark, she looked pointedly at Astrid and Alistair. “Then we can reach Jader and sail East to Denerim or a port closer to the Forest. This way, it might be safer for _Calandriel_ in case the templars are looking for her by land.”

“Safer for all of us.” Alistair said. “Let us not forget who currently pulls the strings in Denerim. The traitor that wants us all dead: Loghain.”

Zevran’s pointed ears perked at the mention of “Jader”. “Why, I know someone with a ship in Jader. Perhaps we may seek passage at a discount that way!” he said excitedly. 

“Well it sounds like you all have a plan!” the king chuckled. “Now, I have one more thing for all of you since I don’t know if I will see you before you leave.” The dwarven king removed a paper parcel from his desk and drawing an ornate knife from his belt, he opened it. 

“We order these on occasion from the Circle of Magi. Grey Wardens have used them in the past to, well, if not completely hide from the darkspawn, to at least diminish their presence in the Deep.” Calandriel looked in the king’s hand to see several small brooches with swirling opals set in each one. “These brooches are enchanted,” Harrowmont explained. “While you wear them, your taint shall be masked, as far as I understand. You should still be able to detect the damned creatures, but they should leave you be if you can move discreetly.”

Fascinated by gems, and curious about the enchantment, Calandriel immediately plucked a brooch from the king’s open hand. It glimmered beautifully in the light. She was not sure which tower these had come from, but the craftsmanship was impeccable. She couldn’t wait to pin it to her robes. Scooping the rest in her hands, she passed them out to her companions. Zevran latched his onto the amulet he wore beneath his studded armor. Morrigan fretted on where she might find a place to pin the brooch on her scrap of a garment. 

“Oh!” Harrowmont exclaimed, holding his index finger in the air. “Lady Cousland. Take this, please, and kindly deliver it.” Astrid took a folded piece of parchment from him, sealed with the Harrowmont crest on a daub of wax. She looked at the king curiously.

“I have mulled over your suggestion regarding Oghren. It is universally acknowledged here in Orzammar that his skills were legendary. He would be an asset in the army against the blight. This is a petition to grant him his caste back. Since he is not completely casteless, he may apply. If the Assembly approves the petition, he may enter the caste again after a designated amount of time spent doing beneficial works for the city. I’m sure you can guess where he may be at this hour.” Harrowmont sighed.

Astrid took the parchment. “I will happily take this to him. Thank you very much.” She said, smiling. 

“I just hope I haven’t made a mistake.” the king said. Suddenly, they all heard a great gong begin to sound. The city bell marked the hours of the day, since sunlight could not be seen in the depths of Orzammar. Harrowmont started at this, and looked over at the dweomer clock on his desk, the cogs ticking away rhythmically. 

“I must be going!” he said, grabbing a leather folder from his desk. “Thank you again, Wardens! You can expect to see my army in the battle when it’s time. Feel free to eat in the dining hall or request something be sent to your rooms. I must go to the council meeting.” The king briefly shook each of their hands before leaving the study. 

Stuffing the petition in her belt, Astrid announced that she would eat at Tapster’s when she delivered it to Oghren. 

“I can think of nowhere I would want to be less.” Morrigan said dryly. She bade them a good night and crept off to her chamber, even though it was only six o’clock. 

If Tapster’s had been crowded the previous night, it was nothing compared to the post-Provings crowds. Alistair, Zevran, Calandriel, and Astrid pushed their way through a small sea of patrons to get into the front entrance. Through the cacophony, Calandriel strained her ears for a singular belch. When she heard it, she led the group in that direction. Alistair muttered “excuse me” and “pardon me” with every step he took, but no one else there paid such courtesy, pushing and shoving to get to the bar. Oghren sat at a small, round stone table, alone, Astrid noticed. Without further ado, Astrid pulled out the petition and handed it to Oghren.

“Well hi there, Hunky! I see you have some of your real girls back with you.” Oghren said to Alistair as ale dribbled down his chin. “What’s this, Blondie?” he said, noticing the piece of parchment from Astrid.

“It’s a petition for you to return to the Warriors.” Astrid exclaimed. 

Oghren gave her a dubious lift of a ruddy eyebrow as he opened the letter. He scanned it a few times and then let out a long sigh through his nostrils. The dwarf mopped a hand over his sweaty brow before he spoke again.

“It figures that they want me back now when rumor has it you all need to raise an army.” Oghren growled. “I thought I had friends in the Warrior caste. But I do away with one sodding ninny, and suddenly I’m done for and none of them will talk to me. Join the likes of them again? No thanks.”

Astrid frowned and looked at her companions. Calandriel turned to Oghren. “As a warrior, do you think you may have better chances of finding your wife?”

Oghren shook his head. “I guess Branka’s not much different than they are. She took the family and up and went without me three years ago. Why bother to look for her if she isn’t coming back for me? I just don’t want to move back up after they treat you so bad at the bottom.”

Alistair furrowed his brows in question. “But didn’t you say you supported King Harrowmont, who strived to uphold the castes? Wasn’t Bhelen trying to break down the system?”

Looking mildly affronted, Oghren slammed his mug down with conviction. “Well yes, being a low caste sucks hurlock balls, but the system works for the city. Orzammar would fall to pieces without the castes. Harrowmont seems like a stand-up fellow.”

Zevran grabbed a chair from someone who stood up from it not noticing, and sat down in front of Oghren. “You are truly a warrior? Are you familiar with the Deep Roads?” he asked in all seriousness. 

“Pah!” Ogrhen exclaimed, drops of ale flying across the table onto Zevran’s face. “The Deep Roads are like the drink list here at Tapster’s. I’ve tried them all. Sometimes I get sick, sometimes it’s a thrill, sometimes I pass out and wake up somewhere completely different two days later, but I know them both like the back of my hand. Why?” Oghren asked, looking up at the rest of the companions.

Before anyone else could speak, Zevran continued. “Come with us! Help us navigate the Deep Roads for our first time. And then see what wonders the surface has to offer. What say you?”  
Oghren absently tugged on one of his moustache braids. “An adventure, huh? It’s not like I have anything going for me anymore in this sodding city. Deal! Now where are you sorry surfacers hoping to go in the Deep Roads?”

The group awkwardly crowded around Oghren and Zevran at the little table until a larger booth finally opened up. Astrid and Calandriel, who had been scanning the bar for a place to sit, leapt at the opportunity. Alistair and Zevran remained with Oghren, who was now animatedly discussing the Provings and how naturally, he would have beat all of the participants.

“It feels so good to sit!” Calandriel said, rubbing at her lower back. 

Noticing the new booth occupants, Corra bustled over to them, tonight looking more harried than hospitable as she had been last night. The dwarven woman rested a hand on the table. 

“What do you want, ladies?” she asked tersely. 

“A house ale. And a glass of your house wine.” Astrid loudly ordered, trying to keep their refreshments simple. 

Calandriel scooted in close to her friend so she wouldn’t have to shout to talk. 

“How was your night last night?” she said softly in Astrid’s ear.

“Oh it was fine. It was good to get some good rest after all that shit went down with the Carta, you know?” Astrid said, taking a deep drink of the cool ale Corra brought her.

“I mean, how was it with Alistair?” Calandriel nudged Astrid in the side.

Astrid, whose color was already ruddy due to the heat of the humid tavern, blushed further. She shrugged. “It was... amazing. I’ve never felt this way. It felt as though I was just going to explode at his every slightest touch. And the way he kisses me, where I can feel how soft his lips are and how rough his stubble is all at once, I just want to grab him all the time now!” Astrid babbled, eager to relive the experience by talking about it. 

Calandriel set down her chalice and looked seriously at Astrid. “You didn’t, you know, without my elixir yet, did you?” 

“Oh no!” Astrid exclaimed! “Not at all! I mean, we were clothed. Well, for the most part. I don’t think either of us are ready at all yet. We haven’t discussed it too much, to be honest. It’s only been a few days.” Astrid said, looking over at the subject of their discussion as he wore an incredulous expression listening to Zevran and Oghren. 

“Good.” Calandriel said. 

“What about you?” Astrid said. “Did you sleep well last night, with Zevran?”

“He damn wore me out!” Calandriel said casually. “He had me wrapped up in more ways than I could possibly imagine! From the front, from behind, upside down, right side up, against the wall. It’s a good thing these stone walls don’t carry sound very well.” Calandriel laughed.

Astrid coughed. She decided it would be best not to bring up that she and Zevran’s lovemaking had in fact, interrupted her own. Maybe in the throes of passion, Calandriel’s acute sense of hearing dulled slightly. Zevran was definitely a distracting personality. Astrid saw the way he turned heads, even more than the rest of them did as surfacers. 

The group, now including Oghren, passed an enjoyable second evening at Tapster’s. They supped at the tavern, wanting to try the strange local eats once more before they would depart. They still had a long journey ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so pleased by lavenderbee's introduction of the brooches ala The Calling. I would really like to keep darkspawn encounters to a minimum! We get enough of that in the games.


	21. The Deep Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group swiftly navigates the Deep Roads with the help of their new dwarven guide, and the magical brooches that conceal their presence from the darkspawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over a hundred pages in, and our Wardens finally encounter some darkspawn.

Early the next morning, Alistair, Calandriel, Astrid, Morrigan, and Zevran met Oghren at Tapster’s and bodily removed him from his bed. Zevran had purchased a sizeable double edged war axe from one of the city’s smiths before their arrival. It was a present for Oghren joining their party. He kept it wrapped and behind his back for the time being. Surprisingly once he was awake, Oghren did not delay them for terribly long. Astrid wondered if he was secretly excited about the prospect of getting out of Orzammar and fighting again. They left the inn and crossed the Commons to the East side, where the entrance to the Deep Roads was guarded.

Harrowmont’s guards recognized the Wardens but blocked Oghren’s passage.

“What are you doing?” one asked, roughly pushing him back.

“I’m leaving this sodding place! Now move your hairy arse!” Oghren roared.

“These surfacers are returning to the surface. Do you mean to join them? Or are you looking for that lost cause, Branka?” this time the other guard spoke to Oghren. Oghren blanched just for a moment at the mention of his estranged wife. 

“None of yer business. I doubt I will be missed by anyone here, obviously.” Oghren growled, growing impatient.

“Well, you shame Orzammar. We thought you might have a trace of dignity left, but apparently not.” the first guard said. 

“I don’t give two nugs’ tits about Orzammar or dignity!” Oghren exclaimed, and barreled his way through the guards. The Wardens and their party awaited Oghren on the other side. Zevran stepped up to Oghren and gave him a comforting rub on the back. Oghren waved his arms in a frenzy. 

“Get your paws off me, you Antivan pipecleaner!” Oghren cried, shuffling away. 

“But I have something for you!” Zevran called back to him. He handed Oghren the axe. Oghren grasped it reverently, an expression of joy overtaking his rough features. Astrid thought he might cry. 

“By the Paragons’ piss! I never thought I’d hold an axe again!” Oghren whispered. “This will do just fine for old Oghren.” Calandriel also approached Oghren and handed him one of the enchanted brooches from Harrowmont. He seemed dubious of anything with magical effects, but he was a dwarf and didn’t need much convincing to sport a fine gemstone.

The Deep Roads began with a great descent. Orzammar, built into the Frostback Mountains, was already deep below ground, but the Deep Roads went even further down. After about a half an hour of descending on the ancient steps, the glowlights from the city could no longer be seen. Calandriel and Morrigan lit their staves so that everyone could see their way. They did not want to risk using too bright a light, so the mages tried to just light what was necessary to see their way. Oghren claimed he could navigate the roads in the complete dark. Astrid was inclined to believe him. The Wardens, Zevran, and Morrigan had unspokenly agreed that their fate now rested in the grubby hands of their new comrade, Oghren. 

“It’s a pity we won’t be venturing very far into the deep,” the dwarf grumbled. “There are so many wonders, sights that make Orzammar look like a flea circus. Caridin’s Cross, Ortan Thaig, the Deep Trenches, and, well, the legendary Anvil of the Void.” Oghren gripped his heavy axe near the head, pumping it in his arm back and forth as he walked. There didn’t seem to be any imminent threats, but the party understood why he might want to bear arms if he hadn’t been able to for years.

Down in the dark, Calandriel started to feel a little more sympathy for the dwarves. She felt so out of place in the dank, cool passageways. Normally her senses were sharp, but being so far underground made her feel as though she’d been put under a misdirection hex. The dwarves were used to the dark and navigating by stone. Calandriel meditated on how many stimuli the surface world offered and that the open sky might seem just as terrifying as the deep darkness. Oghren said they were walking South towards the ancient Aeducan Thaig. 

The band of travelers remained relatively quiet during their journey. Oghren spoke enough for all of them, recounting several of his adventures from the Deep Roads in days gone by. This exemplified how comfortable he felt in the depths of the Earth in comparison to the rest of them, who were considerably on edge. Calandriel turned around at one point to meet eyes with Astrid and Alistair. She felt a subtle whirring in her ears. Astrid simply nodded and Alistair gave her a grave look. They felt it too. They were getting closer to where darkspawn might lie. 

Calandriel rubbed her thumb across her opal brooch and hoped it was working. There was no way of truly telling. She almost wondered if it was just a trick of the mind and that wearing them would make everyone more cautious. For the most part, though, true Circle mages avoided quackery of any kind and would not send a faulty item to the king of Orzammar. 

It took them just over three hours to reach Aeducan Thaig. As they approached the abandoned settlement, Calandriel illuminated the tall statues of Paragons that lined the walls. They were solidly reassuring, even if they were just statues. Their stoic faces reminded her of the firm but fair King Harrowmont. Amidst the whirring hum of the darkspawn’s far off presence, Calandriel swore she could hear water running. As they stepped into the great ruins and old buildings of the thaig, she could make out a small gutter which water coursed through. 

“Are we already nearing the surface?” Morrigan asked, eager to be out of the deep even just after a few hours.

Calandriel shook her head and leaned on her staff. “I believe it is an old dweomer mechanism that is still working after all these years.” Calandriel had almost said “enchantment” and was all the more impressed when she thought of the ancient dwarven engineers. She had read accounts of ancient machines, door locks, plumbing like they saw here, and even glow lamps. While mages fashioned glow lamps of their own that were used in cities, the dwarves had tapped into the resources surrounding them, the stones of the Earth. No longer in the enclosed road, they could see the old city around them in the dim light. 

“Oghren,” Calandriel asked. “Do you suggest that we stay here, where there is slightly more of a physical barrier for us?”

“We’ve only been afoot a few hours. If we stop here now, we’ll have to stay for days down here. If we keep on going, we should just have to make camp in the deep for one night before the passage to the surface near Jader, if I’m not mistaken. Why? Are you already excited to cozy up to my hairy chest?” Oghren laughed at his own joke, but no one else did. Ever since the Wardens could detect the darkspawn, they flinched at the slightest noise. 

They took advantage of the great stone walls and dividers to rest for a time, filling their water skins and flasks in the babbling aqueduct. 

“I don’t know what is more breathtaking,” Alistair said as he admired the intricate geometric designs of the buildings. “What little we can see in the dim light, or what the rest of these vast caverns must look like.”

The party rested for a half an hour before Oghren was eagerly prodding them to get back up and get going. It didn’t take much convincing, though. They were all anxious to make their journey as quick as possible. After they left Aeducan Thaig, they headed West. Or at least that’s what Oghren said. For all Astrid knew, they could be walking in circles. She, too, was becoming even more appreciative of the dwarves who navigated underground, using only small signposts and occasional runes as markers. 

After some time on their Western progress, the Wardens and Zevran heard a curse from Morrigan, who was walking up ahead with Oghren. They jogged to catch up to them. In the light of her staff, Calandriel could see that the entire road passageway had been blocked off, or had collapsed in. Rubble piled high up to the ceiling, far higher than they could hope to safely climb. 

“Now what do we do?” Astrid shrilly cried. Calandriel could sense the girl’s fear. She had been having flashbacks of Ostagar herself. The very foul creatures they were preparing to fight were the last things she wanted to encounter at present. 

“Why don’t you shine your little night light around the area?” Oghren asked Morrigan, who was too nervous to protest. The walls on either side also looked like they had taken some damage, but Oghren scampered over to a small crevice on the South side of the road. 

“Here, someone has mined a tunnel to bypass the collapse!” he happily exclaimed. 

“ _That’s_ a tunnel??” Zevran asked. He kept his complaints to a minimum almost always, but everyone else could see clearly what he meant. The small opening was about three feet wide, and only about five feet tall. Even Oghren might struggle to fit inside, but he made no sign of distress, and clambered in, not waiting for the mages to light the way. 

And so the six of them squeezed and stooped to get into the tunnel. They moved slowly, feeling the ceiling with their hands to avoid bumping their heads. 

“Calandriel, do you need a little push?” Zevran whispered, cupping the firm, round buttocks that crouched before him.

“NOT Calandriel!” Alistair cried, swatting Zevran’s hands away in the dark. After some time in the awkward path they finally emerged. Oghren stepped out first and then turned around to assist his followers. One by one they popped out of the tiny crevice. When Calandriel stepped out and shone her light, she saw what had to be the same huge pile of rubble they had seen before. 

“It took that long just to get around that? That path seemed to go on forever and it was just a small loop!” she whispered in annoyance. Distracted by her frustration, Calandriel did not note the buzzing that Astrid and Alistair felt right away upon emerging. They must have made some noise stepping back into the open. Morrigan brightened the light from her staff and now they could all see a pack of darkspawn not even a hundred feet away. The foul creatures were charging towards them. Alistair’s sword rang as he drew it, running forward. He shouted, “ATAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCKKKK!!!!” and his voice echoed on the walls. Oghren and Astrid weren’t far behind, swinging an axe and drawing daggers respectively. Calandriel and Morrigan stood fast behind them all with the giant stone pile behind them. Zevran had readied his crossbow and was quickly dipping his bolts in some sort of toxic coating. An assassin’s stance.

Astrid scrambled towards a small genlock, those were closer to her size. She gave it a swift kick between the legs. She was unsure if darkspawn even had sexes or genitals, but regardless it was a place to start. The stinking creature bent over, but snarled and waved its crude weapon at her head. She swept both of her daggers in a crossing arc and cut into its stumpy neck. She did not decapitate it, but left it to bleed on the ground. 

Alistair and Oghren were trying to surround a shriek, a screeching darkspawn with scythe like arms. Astrid steadied herself as she felt some spells from Morrigan and Calandriel coming her way. She felt a rush of warmth in her body. Calandriel must have sent out a protective or healing spell, and just in time. All at once, bolts of electricity shot past Astrid’s ears to the darkspawn thronged around her. She also heard the distinctive whiz of bolts singing by her from someone’s crossbow. 

Calandriel both loved and hated the feeling of using her healing powers. Her restorative spells shot out of her staff protecting her companions, but at the same time it made her feel so responsible for their well-being. She was thankful that Zevran remained close by her, sniping darkspawn from afar. Calandriel quickly pulled a small vial of lyrium potion from her pocket and downed it. She felt dizzy and sick momentarily after consuming it before she was ready to continue casting. She looked over to see that Morrigan had now switched to some of her mind altering spells. The fight had gone on now for several minutes and so the witch hoped to prey upon the darkspawn’s physical and mental exhaustion. When just a few of the creatures remained, Calandriel and Morrigan joined the melee. Zevran, having run out of bolts, had drawn both of his boot knives and flung them across the way to strike a hurlock in the back.

Astrid was fighting a strong little genlock. Its sharp teeth were bared in the disturbing lipless smiles the darkspawn all wore. Calandriel hit the thing in the head physically with her staff.

“Not my friend, dickhole!!” the elven mage exclaimed. At this, she shot a blast of fire from her staff, burning the flesh on the genlock’s face. It crumpled to the ground, at which point, Astrid gutted it with a dagger. The two looked around to see that the genlock had been the last standing enemy. So not a very large party of darkspawn, only a dozen or so. Astrid threw her arms around Calandriel. “Thanks, special friend. That certainly quickened things up!” Adrenaline still rushing through her veins, along with the lyrium, Calandriel now felt the giddy excitement of victory and returned the embrace. 

“Got room for me in there? Heh, heh!” Oghren pretended to push between the two friends, who laughed. Oghren’s brow was split open and was bleeding a good deal. Calandriel physically pressed her hand on it until the wound was closed and wiped off the blood with her robe sleeve. It was already dirty enough. Calandriel secretly thanked herself again for wrapping up her white dress from King Harrowmont and not wearing it in the dirty Deep Roads. Calandriel and Morrigan checked in with Alistair, who had managed to get by with just a black eye this time. 

Calandriel handed him a poultice to hold over it and scanned the passageway for Zevran. He was casually looting each darkspawn corpse. The beasts rarely carried anything of great value, but sometimes would have small change, lyrium, or deep mushrooms in their pockets and packs.

“I think we work well together.” Alistair said, looking around at his companions and the corpses on the ground. “Calandriel, do you feel anything anymore?” he asked the elf.

Calandriel paused, trying to sift out her many feelings to see if she still felt the presence and she couldn’t. It was a welcome feeling. 

“I don’t feel anything.” Astrid said, still trying to catch her breath. 

“Well, let’s not get too comfortable here. The Deep Roads has much worse than that to unleash upon us.” Oghren said, stepping away from Calandriel. 

The group now moved on at a faster pace and met few obstructions on the Westward path. Few obstructions besides the increasing darkspawn taint, that is. Astrid ran a gloved finger along the wall and ran over to Calandriel’s staff to examine the oily grime she had picked up. It was wet and glistened like mud, but it gave off a nauseating scent. 

“Eww! Get that filth away from me!” Calandriel said as soon as she saw what was on Astrid’s glove. 

Astrid flicked her fingers at Alistair and the glob of taint splatted onto his left shoulder pauldron. He wrinkled his straight nose in revulsion. “Astrid, was that you?!? That’s disgusting!” he said, wiping the taint off. Astrid only giggled. They were all in need of a little comic relief after the brief battle. 

After they had traveled for several more hours, all of their feet were beginning to ache. What time was it? How long had they been down there? Were they still deep under the Frostbacks? Oghren informed them that it was probably around nightfall and it shouldn’t be too long before they would veer North and leave the Deep Roads. They found a small alcove that was the result of an abandoned tunnel project. 

Absolutely exhausted, Calandriel unrolled her bedroll. She looked around hastily before she realized that Zevran was right beside her. He held her tightly and kissed her forehead. While he would never admit to being afraid, Calandriel could feel the extra tension in his body as he spooned behind her. It had only been a short time,but sleeping with someone else, just sleeping, felt like such a comfort to Calandriel. She didn’t know how she had been alone before. Zevran’s muscular arm wrapped tightly across her chest and grasped her shoulder. She could feel him exhaling on the tender flesh of her neck. Calandriel’s fears floated away for now. She was too tired to be afraid. As she drifted into sleep, she idly wondered how it was that Zevran still smelled delicious after their day of traveling in the dirt and dust.

On the other side of the alcove, Astrid was also preparing for sleep anxiously. She didn’t so much as unplait her hair, just in case she needed to wake up and fight. She checked time and again that her daggers’ hilts were within arm’s reach. Oghren had volunteered to take the first watch. He seemed like a different man than the one they had met at Tapster’s now that they were on an adventure. He was constantly in the lead, eager to go first, and now to keep watch in the silence of night time. Morrigan, who usually took the first watch, shrugged her shoulders and lay down to go to sleep. 

Alistair came and knelt before Astrid. “Goodnight, Astrid,” he whispered.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” Astrid asked. She didn’t want to demand that he sleep near her. After all, they’d only had three rooms at Harrowmont’s estate. Maybe he had shared a room with her out of necessity and wasn’t ready to continue the practice. 

“I don’t think I can get to sleep down here. It’s not that I don’t trust Oghren, I just want to watch for myself if that makes sense. I’ll be right here.” Alistair explained. He ran a gloved hand through her hair and stepped a few paces away, within Astrid’s line of sight. He then sat down and began to sharpen his sword with long, even strokes.

Astrid awoke the next morning after a fitful, sleepless night. She felt continually cold and had strange nightmares that she couldn’t seem to remember upon waking. The road around them outside the alcove was just as dark as it had been the night before, but she could somehow tell it was morning, as if the Earth itself were shifting for the beginning of a new day. 

The second day’s journey was shorter, just as Oghren had promised. By mid morning, they began to ascend stairs, and Calandriel thought she could smell vegetation and even a hint of salt in the air. At long last, the stairs came to a stop. Calandriel could know clearly hear wind and even birds singing outside the great double doors that now faced them. Her footing seemed more sure now that she could sense land again. They were all simply waiting on Oghren, who was pacing back and forth. Between the two of them, Astrid and Zevran had picked the great bolt keeping the doors locked. From what they knew, the Orlesian port city of Jader awaited them just a short while outside the Deep Roads.

“Just give me a minute!” Oghren cried for the thousandth time.

“Oh, just one?” Morrigan said dryly. “We have already given you at least thirty while you make up your mind. Do you really intend to go all the way back alone?”

Oghren shrugged. “I don’t sodding know. I’ve never been to the surface. What if I fall into the sky, never to swing my axe or screw a sweet woman ever again? Do they at least have ale in the sky?” the dwarf asked in all seriousness. 

Calandriel knelt before him. “Oghren, you’ve been an amazing guide and companion and we are so grateful for your assistance. I am a mage, and an elf, and therefore quite familiar with all things unusual and supernatural. I assure you, I will not let you fall into the sky. Now are you ready, you mad berserker?” Calandriel held his stumpy hand and helped him up. She nodded to Astrid and Zevran, who opened the doors with a push. They all gasped as the sunlight nearly blinded them.

“Ohh my Paragon’s prick!” Oghren gasped as he took in the great grassy hills around him. “So that’s the sky! It’s so big!” The companions all experienced an intimate moment, surrounding Oghren as he gazed upon open land for the first time. They passed the time walking to Jader by showing Oghren objects at random. Grass, flowers, trees, and in the distance, an above ground city with ships filling the bay.


	22. Yo Ho, Yo Ho!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens and their companions reach the city of Jader, where Zevran's ship captain friend can be found. Calandriel and Astrid are surprised when they find out who it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This soundtrack is great accompaniment for the following chapters. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xKsRPhD968A

The day was still young and Calandriel ran her hands along the dewy grass, then wiped her hands across her face. She felt as though she looked like a golem, all dusty and covered in rocks. She wasn’t sure when they would be able to wash next, but if she saw a stream, she knew she would want to dip her head in. How did Zevran still manage to look so flawless? His tan skin glistened in the morning sun. 

As they approached Jader, they could see the morning commercial activity just getting underway. Fishwives bellowed out prices of fresh catches in Orlesian. Ship mates rolled barrels up planks into boats. Calandriel was amazed at how strange some of them looked. She saw one man sporting pigtails that had been dipped in tar, another covered in tattoos all over his face. At least here they would be less conspicuous than they had been in Orzammar and Haven. The rest of the companions wore matching expressions. None of them had been to Jader before, save for Zevran, and it was a swarming and diverse city. People came from Orlais, Ferelden, and beyond the Waking Sea to trade, buy, sell, and participate in various entertainments the city had to offer. 

“Alright Zevran,” Alistair began. “What’s the name of that fellow’s ship? We should look there first before we seek passage anywhere else.” Alistair looked doubtfully at a drunken shipmate who fell backwards out of a docked ship into the scummy water.

Zevran’s eyes darted about wildly. “It is called ‘Siren’s Call’. It frequently makes trips East and West across the Waking Sea.” the Antivan explained.

“Is that it?” Morrigan asked, pointing her staff in the distance at a great vessel with ‘Siren’s Call’ painted elegantly on the side. 

“Ah! So it is!” Zevran said with a laugh. He quickened his step and hurried towards the ship.

“What’s the captain’s name, Zevran?” Astrid asked, already racking her brain on how to introduce herself to a seafarer, and potentially a pirate. 

“Her name is Isabela.” Zevran replied casually.

“The captain’s a ‘she’??” Calandriel asked, tugging on Zevran’s hand.

“Yes, yes. She is an old friend of mine, a very vivacious and generous lady. You all will love her!” Zevran said, smiling. Calandriel turned around and made a face at Astrid, bulging her eyes. 

Astrid simply shrugged. She didn’t know any more about ships, sailing, or this Isabela than Calandriel did. 

Finally, they approached the plank leading up to Siren’s Call. Zevran ascended the plank, still holding Calandriel’s hand. 

“Zevran, is that you, you old fox?” a burly ship hand called over to Zevran with a deep laugh. 

Just then, they heard a voice coming from behind the captain’s cabin call out. 

“Anselmo, did you just say _Zevran_?!” a female voice called out in an exotic accent.

Zevran stepped in the direction of the voice. The speaker made herself visible. She was a petite woman, but she more than made up for it with her large presence. She had skin the color of almonds and lively large eyes lined thickly with kohl. She wore a silk scarf on her head and gold bangles and baubles all over her wrists and neck. Her short, swishing skirt revealed two knee high buckled boots with a heel. She wore a simple white shirt, or what had once been a simple white shirt. It had been ripped and torn so much that the front seemed to be missing entirely and was held together by a few hastily tied laces. This style afforded a full on show of her lovely, resplendent bust. Her two cocoa breasts jiggled and swelled as though they might capsize at any moment. 

“Ahhh!” the woman yelped, and leapt towards Zevran. She pulled him into an intimate embrace, clutching his back with one hand and pulling his head in for a kiss with the other. Zevran had long since let go of Calandriel’s hand. The woman, Isabela, broke apart from Zevran.

“What in the seven seas are you doing here, you Antivan rogue, you?” Isabela giggled, still not letting go of Zevran. 

“I have need of your services.” At this, Isabela raised a shapely black eyebrow. Zevran laughed. “Haha, not so fast. I mean I must sail East!” Zevran replied, free and easy, sensing nothing amiss. He turned to the Wardens and companions who were all staring at the pair, slackjawed.

“My comrades,” Zevran said, stepping aside and holding an arm out. “May I present to you, the Queen of the Eastern Seas and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn, Isabela!”

“A pleasure.” Morrigan said, expressionless. Alistair’s face was crimson and he seemed to be immersed in re-lacing his gauntlets. Astrid, unsure of whether to bow or curtsy, made an awkward combination of the two. Calandriel was biting her tongue so hard she could taste the iron of blood in her mouth. Her fists clenched around her staff and she had to try with all her might not to use it that very instant. _Old friend_?? 

Oghren stepped up to Isabela and brazenly took her hand and kissed it. “Hello, toots!” he said. “Never been to the ocean before, but I’ll be happy to take sailin’ lessons from you!”. He raised his thick red eyebrows as he ogled her. Isabela simply laughed in response. 

“Zevran, who are your other companions?” Isabela asked, now brushing her skirts off with her hands and stepping closer to the group. 

“Isabela,” Zevran said with a pause, “ _This_ is the moon of my sky, my diamond, my elven love, Enchanter Calandriel Aurealin.” Zevran beamed at Calandriel, who simply glared at him.

“My, my, my!” Isabela said, looking up at Calandriel admiringly. “You weren’t lying when you said you wished to move on and up in the world, Zevran! She is so lovely, like a doll! Just look at your lovely hair! And a mage as well? Tell me, sweetling, do you use your magic on Zevran? He can be quite naughty, so I hope you are punishing him!” Isabela laughed at her remark.  
Calandriel awkwardly shifted her mouth so she was no longer grimacing, but she was in no way smiling. Who was this woman? Why hadn’t Zevran mentioned her? Is this what it meant to love a professional assassin? Dealing with such characters?

Alistair had finally laced his gloves and with no more excuses, approached Isabela. “Zevran mentioned you may have room for us aboard. We’d be perfectly satisfied even in the steerage if you have room.” the knight asked, avoiding eye contact with Isabela at all costs. 

“And who have we here? Such a handsome Ser you are! Of course I have room! For Zevran and his attractive friends, anytime! Now where do you all need to go? I’m heading to Denerim tonight, but it may take longer than usual with the state of affairs in Ferelden, maybe a week or so, depending on the currents.” Isabela said, looking around at all the companions with her arms akimbo.

“We’re hoping to reach the Brecilian Forest,” Astrid piped in. “So sailing toward Denerim would be perfect.” Astrid knew Calandriel must have felt blindsided, but she did not want to be completely rude to this woman. Especially if she was taking them all the way to Denerim at a discount, or perhaps free of charge. 

“And a lovely, busty young woman such as myself! I think we shall get along.” Isabela touched Astrid’s shoulder and smiled warmly. She was certainly an outgoing woman. Was she simply complimenting Astrid, or did Astrid notice her gaze lingering on her body as well? Isabela shook her head and spoke again. “But yes, you all are most welcome to join me. Trade hasn’t been as lively as it was a year ago, so unfortunately yet fortunately, I have plenty of extra room in steerage for your belongings. I’ve also several cabins free since I don’t need much of a crew at present. I’m planning on staying in Denerim for the season once we arrive until business picks up again. You understand.”

“If we go to Denerim, we ought to lay low,” Astrid said quietly so that only Calandriel and Alistair might hear. “The capitol city’s a fine place to get information, but we don’t want to tip off you-know-who that we’re there.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, but discretion is my middle name,” Isabela butted in.

Calandriel looked the woman up and down, noting the skimpiness of her attire. “I never would have guessed that.”

“What sort of business are you in, Isabela?” Morrigan asked, not bothering to hide the disdain on her face. 

Isabela’s bell of a laugh chimed again. “Oh a bit of this and a bit of that. Commercial goods, you might say. Now, do you all have anything else to bring aboard? We should be leaving before the evening tide tonight.”

* * *

Isabela was a gracious and generous host. When Alistair mumbled something about needing to stop for supplies first, Isabela laughed. “I’ve got everything you’ll need and then some, my robust new friend!” She hooked an arm around his and began to lead him around the deck of her ship. “Come, let me give you a tour of all the Siren’s Call has to offer!”

Astrid watched the pair stroll off, feeling thoroughly uncomfortable. She glanced over at Calandriel, who did not look at all her usual self. The elf was usually so serene-looking, her platinum hair untouched by filth, but now it looked duller than usual. There were dark circles under her eyes and streaks of dirt marred her normally pristine skin. The Deep Roads had not been kind to any of them, least of all the elf. The two exchanged looks, but Calandriel walked off and approached the burly first mate before Astrid could open her mouth to say anything. “Do you have a washroom on this thing?” she asked. 

“This _thing_?” Anselmo said, raising an eyebrow at her as he hoisted himself up from the deck where he had been untangling a pile of ropes. Calandriel gazed up at him, her eyes widening. The man was at least a foot and a half taller than her, his arms and chest muscular and covered with thick, wiry black hair. He wore a beard that seemed to blend right in with the hair on his chest. He stared down at her for a moment, shadowing her completely with his gargantuan form. 

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I’m just not accustomed to being on a ship.”

The man’s hulking face broke into a wide grin and he clapped her on the back, nearly knocking her off her feet. “Of course we do, hon!” he said, his voice deep but somehow lilting. “Let me show you.” The giant bear of a man led her into the cabins at the stern of the ship. 

“So how does any of this work?” Oghren asked, standing between Morrigan and Astrid. Zevran was sitting on the far ledge of the ship, chatting animatedly with some unsavory-looking characters he must have known. “I thought you cloudheads lived on the land, not on the water.” He approached the edge of the ship, a few paces from Zevran, and peered over it. The Waking Sea stretched endlessly before him. It was nearly impossible to tell where the crystalline blue of the waters met with the cloudless sky. The dwarf shuddered and turned away, the sight being too much for him. 

“Just think, Oghren. You are a pioneer. How many dwarves can say they went to sea on their first outing from below the ground?” Astrid encouraged. 

“Ahh, you’re too sweet for your own good, you know that, Blondie?” Oghren said in a rare moment of genuine kindness. Then he pulled out a flask from the pouch around his belt and took a swig. He offered it to Astrid and Morrigan, who both shook their heads. He shrugged. “Well, more for me, then! Something tells me I’m gonna need it.”

After a few moments, Isabela returned with Alistair, who looked relieved and strangely excited. “Isabela’s just shown me the galley, the hold, the cabins, everything. There are barrels and barrels of apples and salted fish, and oh, Astrid, you should see the _cheese_!” He looked positively giddy. 

“That’s lovely,” Astrid said flatly. “But what’s the catch?”

Isabela stepped toward her, her hips swaying salaciously with each bountiful stride. She put an arm around the woman’s shoulder affectionately. “My darling, there is no catch.” She turned so that they could both see Zevran across the ship, who was now merrily popping grapes into his mouth and laughing with the ship hands. “You see that magnificent man over there? I owe him my life. For him, I would give _anything_.” Astrid felt the other woman’s bosoms pressing against her own as they broke apart. “Now then! Let us depart! Anselmo, the sails!” She raced to the upper deck and took the helm. The party watched her in awe as she assumed the role of captain, the wind sweeping through her black curling hair. In that moment, Astrid felt like she would give anything to be as confident and sexy as that woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love how much Alistair loves cheese.


	23. What a Wicked Game to Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calandriel and Astrid share a moment of friendship. The group plays Wicked Grace aboard the ship. Zevran has a lot to say.

The voyage began without a hitch. Isabela proved to be a more than competent captain. The way in which she was able to multi-task between navigating and manning her crew was something to be admired. 

Calandriel emerged from the cabins after having cleansed herself and changed into fresh garb. She felt a little better as she stepped out onto the deck, her bare feet skimming the wood gracefully. As an elf, she preferred not to wear shoes. The sun was setting now, the last of its orange rays fading into midnight blue along the horizon. She seated herself on a bench along the ledge, running a comb through her long, wet hair, gazing at the fading light. All around her were voices. Many of the ship hands were hanging out on deck, talking quietly. She glanced over and saw Oghren leaning on a barrel, trying his hand at hitting on a couple of Isabela’s female crew members. She had no idea where the rest of her companions were, until a familiar voice pricked her ears. She looked up and saw Zevran sitting near the helm next to Isabela. As much as she strained her hearing, she could not make out what they were saying. She could see the way the woman stroked his arm playfully, though. Her laughter cut the air like a knife. Calandriel stood and gripped the railing with both of her hands and closed her eyes. 

“Are you alright?” 

Calandriel’s eyes snapped open. She turned to see Astrid, her closest friend. “I-I’m fine,” she faltered. 

“You know I don’t believe you,” Astrid said with concern. 

The elven woman let out a sigh and sat down again. “It’s nothing, really,” she said. “I’ve no reason to feel this way. We’re not even really together, you know?”

“What do you mean?” Astrid asked, seating herself next to the elf. Calandriel envied her innocence. 

“It’s not like he’s said to me, ‘Calan, I am committed to you and to you only.’ We’ve never had any conversations like that. In fact, we haven’t had many conversations at all, now that I think about it.” Her silvery eyes were glassy with tears, though she fought them back. 

Astrid glanced up at the rogue on the higher deck, who was laughing easily with Isabela. “Why don’t you just talk to him about it? Maybe he doesn’t know how it’s affecting you.”

“Right…” Calandriel said, wiping her eyes with a long sleeve. She sniffed. “Astrid, you are my greatest friend. I’m so grateful to have met you.”

Astrid smiled and gave the elven woman a warm embrace. Just then, however, their moment of friendship was interrupted by none other than Oghren. “Would you ladies care to join me below deck for a game of Wicked Grace?” he grunted. They could tell by the way one of his eyes trailed off in a different direction that he was already piss-drunk. “The whole crew’s gonna play!”

The women looked at each other and smiled. “I could go for some fun,” Calandriel said, and they each got up and followed the dwarf and his new-found lady friends into the hull. 

On the upper deck, Zevran leaned over the railing and watched them all go. “I think there is something _wicked_ afoot!” he said to the captain, and the two of them followed suit. Anselmo took the helm. 

Below the deck, Calandriel, Astrid, Oghren, Zevran, Isabela, and the crew seated themselves around a large wooden table. Alistair met them, having been invited by Anselmo earlier. It seemed it was tradition to start a long voyage with a game of cards. Astrid looked around the table and noticed that Morrigan was not present. The woman was always so aloof. 

“Alright, ladies,” Isabela said, shuffling the cards in her hand. “If you’re easily offended, I suggest you leave now. We don’t play your average game of Wicked Grace on the Siren’s Call. Basic rules apply, but the loser must strip an article of clothing each round. Take a drink every time you play a black card.”

Calandriel sat next to Zevran, with the sea queen on his other side. She had played this game a thousand times before back at the Circle. She wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. With her best friend and Alistair seated on her other side, she felt a strange confidence. If she could beat Isabela at her own game, she could win the day. A couple of the crewmen brought out glasses for them all, which they filled with ale from a barrel nearby.

Isabela dealt the cards. Oghren snorted derisively as he examined his hand. 

“I’ll play first,” Isabela said. She laid down a card and seeing that the suit was black, took a hearty draught of ale. The drink dribbled down her chin onto one of her buoyant breasts and she wiped it away with the back of her hand.

They continued this way in a circle until every player had lain a card. Astrid had no idea what was going on, but had taken a pull of the ale at Calandriel’s urging. 

Each round, the player with the lowest card had to strip an article of clothing as determined by the player with the highest card. The first round, Astrid had dropped the ace of spades, whereas Alistair’s card had been a measly two of hearts. They continued in this way for several rounds, each of them becoming tipsier with every play. Isabela cut in here and there with special rules and regulations that made the game all the more deviant, but Calandriel felt relieved to have seen them all before. Oghren dropped out relatively quickly, having drank too much. By the end of the game, nearly everyone had lost at least one piece of clothing, and Alistair found himself in nothing but his underwear. He thanked the Maker that he had no more cards left to play. It was down to only two players now: Calandriel and Isabela. The captain had only had to remove the bandana tied around her hair, whereas Calandriel had removed nothing. She supposed she had had to get good at this game early on, considering that she typically only wore robes and sometimes a shift underneath. She would be out in two rounds if she didn’t play her cards right. She stared across the table at the dusky woman with determination, her eyes narrowing. Isabela smiled and made her move. Calandriel’s eyes flicked down to the card and up again, careful not to give away her emotions. Zevran tried to sneak a peek over her shoulder, but she pulled her hand away and threw down her final play. She had won.

“Brilliant!” Astrid exclaimed, grasping Calandriel’s shoulder and giving it an excited shake.

Calandriel continued to gaze at Isabela unblinkingly, who stared back, smirking. “Well played, my dear!” she said with the slightest hint of irritation, barely detectable.

“I have never seen anyone in all my years beat Isabela at a game of Wicked Grace!” Zevran said. “Truly, I am impressed!”

Calandriel downed the remainder of her ale and stood up. With a glance at Astrid for encouragement, she turned to the assassin. “Zevran, would you care to accompany me on deck for a while?”

The rogue smiled and stood. “Ah, you would like to go somewhere more _private_ , yes? Argh! Pirate Zevran reporting for duty! Prepare to be boarded!” The two elves departed, leaving the rest of them still seated around the table. 

“I’m just going to gather what’s left of my dignity, and put my clothes back on…” Alistair muttered. He stood, clutching his pants in front of him to hide himself as he awkwardly tried to get behind a barrel and get dressed.

“Oh, honey, leave it _off_!” came a booming voice. 

Alistair let out a shriek and dropped his pants. As he scrambled to retrieve them, he saw Anselmo standing on the stairs, his massive body taking up the entire hallway. 

“As Isabela and I always say, ‘if you’ve got it, _flaunt_ it!’” The big man bustled by, giving Alistair a final look that seemed to cut right through his undergarment. Shakily, he managed to pull up his trousers once again and don a billowy white shirt that one of Isabela’s crewmen had borrowed him. It was ridiculously ruffled along the chest and wrists and made him look like a real butt pirate. He seated himself next to Astrid. 

“Don’t mind Anselmo,” Isabela said, waving her hand idly. The golden bangles around her wrist jangled and chimed. “He can’t help himself around strapping young men. It’s part of the reason I sail with so many women. That, and I find they don’t bitch as much…”

Upstairs, Calandriel and Zevran had found a relatively quiet space at the bow of the ship. It was completely dark now. The moon was no more than a sliver in the sky, the only light coming from strategically placed torches along the railings. Ahead of them, they could only see stars. Calandriel stood gazing out at them, a faint breeze playing about her hair. 

“Tell me, my love. What is it you wish to do to me up here?” Zevran whispered into her ear, standing behind her. He ran a hand along her back, making her suddenly ache with desire.

“Zevran…” she began slowly as she turned around to face him. “I have been thinking lately, and I came to the realization that you and I don’t really know each other. I mean, besides physically… I know nothing about your past, your family, _anything_.”

Zevran’s playful expression turned suddenly sombre. He sighed and stepped away from her, gazing at the endless sea stretched out before them. “I suppose I owe you an apology. I have just been so… enraptured by your incredible beauty.” He sighed again. “Such is the way it usually goes with me. Always getting carried away... My mother was Dalish, like you, though she died before I was old enough to know her. They say my father was a woodcutter that she fell in love with, abandoned her clan for, and moved to Antiva City to be with. When my father died, my mother was forced to live a life of prostitution to take care of his debts. After _she_ died, the other prostitutes raised me.” He paused before continuing. “I became a skilled thief, so much so that when the Crows came looking for orphans to buy, I was first on their list. I was purchased for three sovereigns, a sizable sum for the Crows.”

Calandriel listened silently. This was much more than she had expected. 

Zevran continued. “After some time, my skills caught the attention of the guildmaster of House Arainai. I was sold once again, an auspicious commodity to be passed around. There I met Taliesen, and Rinna…” Calandriel could not believe it, but the assassin actually looked pained while he spoke. She had never seen him be anything but jovial and hypersexual before this moment. “We became inseparable. A team. Together, we completed the highest-fetching contracts, bringing in exorbitant sums of money for House Arainai. We lived like kings. But we were more than just business partners, assassins. We were _lovers_. I didn’t believe Taliesen at first when he told me Rinna had betrayed us, but he could be a very convincing man. The two of us ambushed her in her chambers one night. I told her I cared nothing for her as I drove the dagger into her heart. It was not until much later that I learned she was innocent. The Crows had orchestrated the whole thing to prove to us how little we truly meant to them. Taliesen fell for it because he wanted me all to himself. I fell for it because I was naive and wanted to please. After that, I took the only contract that no one wanted. To kill the Grey Wardens.”

“A suicide mission,” Calandriel said softly. 

Zevran turned to face her again. “I have never told anyone this. I have never cared for anyone as I do you. I will not make the same mistake again.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, softly this time, as opposed to his usual passion. Calandriel kissed him back, though her feelings were mixed. Zevran had killed the woman he loved. And then there was the issue with Isabela. She could not bring up such a trivial subject at a time like this, though. For the first time, Zevran was vulnerable. 

“Now then, my delicate flower,” Zevran said, assuming his usual flirtatious nature (though Calandriel could tell it was still somewhat off), “You ought to go to sleep. It is getting late. I will join you in a while.” With that, Calandriel heeded his words and made her way to the cabin. She stopped short just before going through the door and looked back at the assassin. He was bent over the railing, his head low, and his shoulders trembling. He was crying. She felt a pang of sympathy and wanted to go to him, but knew that he needed to be alone. She entered the cabin and shut the door behind her and crawled into the empty, cold bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter nearly had me in tears. ;-; Poor Zevvy!!!!
> 
> Also, when I wrote the first half of this chapter, I was drinking Fulton Lonely Blonde ale and well, at a certain point, my writing quality seriously degraded. I really struggled on that paragraph about Wicked Grace. I kinda just wanted to glaze over the details but I found myself making up some rules about the game play anyway. It probably would be very boring in real life, but I just needed something to get through that scene.


	24. Out to Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela is just full of surprises. Calandriel and Morrigan converse with each other in the galley of the ship.

The next morning passed by rather uneventfully. Calandriel contemplated what Zevran had told her, though she did not speak to him about it, or to anyone else for that matter. The rogue seemed to be back to his usual self; sharing innuendos with Oghren, making Alistair generally uncomfortable, and much to Calandriel’s chagrin, spending a lot of time with Isabela. She tried hard to remember his words from the previous evening and turn a blind eye, though it was difficult. 

After several hours, there was a commotion on board. The lookout called down to Isabela. “There’s a small galleon to the north! A merchant ship out of Kirkwall!”

Isabela smiled. “Would you all like to see what it is I do for a living?” She shouted from the helm, a fierceness alight in her eyes. Without waiting for an answer, she called out to her crew.   
“Everyone in position! Anselmo, give us some speed!” The ship hands leapt to their feet, hoisting ropes and snatching up daggers. Zevran leaned over the railing of the top deck, peering under his hand at the vessel in the distance. He laughed his hearty laugh. 

Calandriel, Astrid, and Alistair crowded together on the lower deck. “What’s happening?” Calandriel asked. She knew nothing about ships or the kind of people that operated them.

Alistair gazed up at the lookout post. The woman who had pointed out the merchant ship was taking down the flag that had been previously flapping in the wind and replaced it with a new one. It was black with a white skull and crossed bones on it. “I… don’t think our host is in the trade business,” he said. “She’s… a pirate.”

“Of course she is…” Astrid said, with an air of annoyance. “So what do we do now?”

“We fight!” Zevran said, appearing seemingly out of thin air. He had the same mad glint in his eyes as Isabela. 

Calandriel watched as the merchant ship got closer and closer, despite its attempts at outpacing them. It was no match for the Siren’s Call, which had been built for just such endeavors. When they had advanced upon the smaller ship, Anselmo slowed their speed and turned their vessel so that the two were parallel. Isabela’s ship hands leapt over the railing onto the other ship, which was ill-prepared for the assault. They had no cannons, no defenses except for the men that operated the galleon and the cheap swords that they brandished. Zevran was among the first to board the other deck. His daggers clashed with one of the merchant’s curved swords as the onslaught began. Was it bloodlust from his assassination days or perhaps was he trying to impress the pirate queen? Calandriel couldn’t tell. She glanced across the gap at the other deck and spotted a mage, sending spells at them from afar. As much as she didn’t want to get involved in this mess, there really was no choice. She channeled a misdirection hex at the mage, who stumbled, blasting his spell at one of his own men. 

The battle was over almost before it had begun. Several merchants lay dead, though a few still stood trembling and disarmed. Zevran held a knife to the mage’s throat, lest he cause any more trouble.

Isabela leapt from her place at the helm and swung herself onto the merchant vessel’s deck. She surveyed the scene with a look of satisfaction on her sultry face. 

“That was a massacre!” Astrid said, no longer able to hold back. Her face was flushed with anger. “You’ve killed innocent people! For what? Gold?”

Isabela turned to look at her, then nodded to Zevran. The rogue whispered something in the captive mage’s ear and moved his knife from the man’s throat to his back. The mage walked with both hands clasped behind him, and the rogue followed him below deck. 

“Where were these supplies headed anyway?” Astrid said, still furious. “There are people starving all across Thedas! The Blight is taking over everything, we don’t need pirates too!”

Isabela began to laugh mirthlessly. “You are so cute,” she said, which angered Astrid even more. Before she could retort, however, Zevran and the mage re-emerged from amidships. Behind them walked a line of very grungy, downtrodden-looking women, their hair tangled, their faces dirty. How long they had been down there, it was difficult to say. 

“Slaves.” Calandriel said quietly. She scanned the row of women and noticed one similarity between them all. Their pointed ears marked them all as elves.

“Slaves to be sold into prostitution,” Isabela said, walking up to the mage that Zevran held captive. She slapped the man across the face so hard that his mouth began to bleed. “You won’t be hurting these women any longer.” she said. “Ladies, any of you worth your salt who wish to join my crew may do so! The rest of you will be brought to Amaranthine and freed!”

The women exchanged looks of disbelief, relief, fear, and joy. Some began to cry. “Anselmo! You know what to do. I’ll meet you back in Denerim.” 

The burly man nodded in acknowledgment and gathered some of the crew to help him tie up affairs on the slave ship. The mage was tossed into the hull where the slave women had been kept, along with the rest of the slavers. 

“Kirkwall, the City of Chains,” Alistair said. Astrid stared in disbelief. 

“I had no idea.” Astrid said quietly. “From the way my parents spoke of it, it was just a city of rabblerousers always in turmoil.”

“That’s just it,” Alistair explained. “It has a long, grim history of a slave trade. There’s also a Circle of Magi in the city. Between the mages in the Circle and those fighting slavery, it’s a rather caustic environment.”

Calandriel looked across the gap at the group of emaciated women, their chafes and scars visible to her even in the distance. _That could have been me,_ she thought. She felt uncomfortable and ashamed seeing the harsh reality for so many of her kind. Her shame turned to anger as she thought of the templars that were possibly hunting her. What good was she cooped up in a tower? She had loved her time in the tower, but even just a few weeks traveling had shown her how useful her skills could be to the world outside. The army against the darkspawn needed her, these slaves could use an advocate. She couldn’t just go back to the tower and read books and ignore the world around her after this was all over. She wondered how Zevran felt about it. He didn’t seem to take much pride in his elven heritage, and now knowing the truth about his upbringing, Calandriel didn’t blame him. He probably felt no more an elf than he did a dwarf, as his identity was based solely on his ability to kill and avoid being killed. Calandriel looked over as she saw Zevran climb back onto Siren’s Call with Isabela. The merchant ship was already turning away. 

As the ship rotated and oriented East, they all could see Anselmo at the steer. He waved gregariously up at them.

“Goodbye everyone!” the large man boomed with a smile. “Oh, and Alistair! Your sweet little ass had better come see me at The Pearl in Denerim! I’m not done with you yet, honey!” Anselmo whistled jovially and the ship passed them all. Astrid nudged Alistair in the ribs. 

“I’ll help you remember to visit him in Denerim.” Astrid said with a wink.

“What, you too?” Alistair replied, looking down at her in puzzlement.

“Hey, I can’t blame him.” Astrid giggled and then imitated scanning Alistair’s figure in a slow, lewd once-over like Anselmo did. 

“I say we sic all the men on Alistair,” Oghren said, approaching the two of them. “That leaves all the ladies for yours truly!” Oghren puffed up his chest and walked away, balancing his axe on his shoulder trying to attract attention in the only way he knew how. 

Isabela came back aboard the Siren’s Call and after making sure everything was in order along the port beam, strode back towards the steer. Astrid strode over to the captain.

“Isabela?” Astrid asked, shyly tapping the woman on the shoulder. Astrid felt so awkward just standing aside during all the excitement.

“Yes, oh noble one?” Isabela turned to her and raised an eyebrow. “Astrid, isn’t it? Like a flower, but there is strength in your name.”

“I’m sorry I called you a pirate.” Astrid said evenly. She had such conflicting feelings about this erstwhile companion. While she was the source of Calandriel’s anguish, it could not be denied that Isabela was a fierce fighter.

“But I am a pirate!” Isabela laughed, resting a hand on Astrid’s forearm. She was just as physical as Zevran was in conversation. Maybe everyone was outside of Ferelden. “I try to do the right thing, though, once in a while. How were you to know if you’ve never been at sea?”

“I suppose you’re right.” Astrid conceded. “It’s strange. I hail from the Coastlands. In fact, that’s where I get my family name, _Cousland_ , but my mother never let me go out to sea. Too perilous, she always said. I can see why now.”

“Cousland, you say? I frequently sail near the Castle at Highever. Do you wish to stop there? I do not believe their docks are large enough to accommodate the ship, but we could arrange something.”

Astrid thought of the last time she was at Highever. She’d tried not to think of it since becoming a Warden. This whole journey had been unceasing traveling, fights, decision making, and mystery solving. Her grief had been suppressed with all the activity. Her mother had woken her up from sleep saying the castle was under attack. Astrid had been so confused. In all her life, her father had fortified the castle, making sure they were safe. Arl Howe, imposing as a guest of Teryn Cousland, had called men to ambush the castle in the dead of night. Astrid remembered a tearful and confusing goodbye to her parents, her father lying on the ground bleeding in her mother’s arms. They told her leaving with Duncan would be her only chance to live, and she hadn’t turned back since.

“No. I do not wish to stop there. We’ve too much to do.” Astrid said after a pause. Not bothering to hear Isabela’s reply, Astrid headed below deck to try to find an empty berth or bunk. She didn’t feel like talking anymore. How could she feel homesick for a place that no longer was her family home? The pitching of the ship on the waves lulled her to sleep.

Back on deck, Calandriel paced round and round from bow to stern and back again. Traveling by sea was so strange. On their journeys by land and in the Deep Roads, they were always physically exerting themselves, looking for enemies, stopping to eat or take care of other bodily functions. Here at sea, the wind and the sails did all the work for them. It left her with an odd sense of restlessness, which did not combine well with her feelings about the slaves she had seen. Calandriel did not see Zevran, realizing that she was subconsciously looking for him as she paced the deck. Finally, she realized that he was up in the crow’s nest with one of the ship mates in animated conversation. She let him be. Calandriel wasn’t ready to return to casual flirting with him after what he had revealed to her. Her fingers tapped over and over on her staff. 

Calandriel looked up at Isabela and saw that the captain was letting Oghren and Alistair each take turns at the steering wheel. They looked delighted. Isabela certainly had a way of charming everyone. Even Astrid had spoken to her, Calandriel thought, trying not to feel betrayed. The captain hadn’t done anything to Astrid, after all. She looked up at Alistair again, just in case. He simply wore a boyish grin of excitement while spinning the wheel, appearing all the more ridiculous as his ruffled shirt blew in the wind. Calandriel stepped down below deck. 

In the cramped space, the elf could see Astrid curled up on a bed in a tiny cabin. Across from Astrid, Morrigan sat on the floor, her head between her knees. 

“Are you alright, Morrigan?” Calandriel whispered, not wanting to wake Astrid.

Morrigan lifted her head with considerable effort. “What do you need?” she croaked.

“You missed some excitement above deck.” Calandriel said, trying to make conversation to take Morrigan’s mind off of her obvious seasickness.

“I think I’ll live.” Morrigan said sarcastically. “Then again, maybe not with the way this insidious vessel is swaying.”

“Why don’t you help me cut some herbs and assemble poultices? I didn’t have time in Orzammar and I don’t want these all to dry out too much. There’s a small table in the galley I bet we could use.” Calandriel entreated the witch and was now crouching beside her.

“Oh alright.” Morrigan said. “Maybe they’ve got a biscuit or something there. I can try and see if it stays down. Sailing is awful. I’d almost rather drink Dragon’s Piss again.” 

Morrigan slowly pulled herself up by her gnarled staff, and almost toppled over at the motion of the ship. She and Calandriel crossed the cabin area to the other side of the ship to find the galley.

Just as Calandriel had noticed, there was a tiny table for the cook, probably used for the very purpose of cutting vegetables and herbs. The crew probably ate in their cabins or at the large table they had all played cards at the night before. Calandriel sat herself and started to pull the muslin bags from the herbalist outside of Orzammar out of her pack. Morrigan, still looking rather green, produced a small knife from her belt. It was far too small to be used as a weapon, so Calandriel thought that Morrigan also used it for plants. Without a word, Calandriel handed her some elfroot, deep mushrooms, and a small roll of gauze. Morrigan needed no instruction and divided up the elfroot, some to use for health poultices and some to go into injury kits. 

Once Morrigan had a small little process of assembly going, Calandriel dug out the Wild Yam root, the bunches of Queen Anne’s Lace, and some snowberries, which had only shriveled slightly over the past few days. Calandriel crushed the roots and herb together to make a moist paste. 

“What are you making?” Morrigan finally asked after a time.

“Just a little something for Astrid. For her...condition.” Calandriel did not wish to completely divulge her friend’s secrets. “Morrigan, about what you said the other night, well, what did you mean? About your mother?” Calandriel steered the conversation away from Astrid, but hoped she wouldn’t upset the witch.

Morrigan looked up from her work and set her knife down. “Well, I believe it’s just what I told you.” Morrigan said matter-of-factly. “All of my life, I would try to ask my aging mother what would happen when she got old. She always managed to change the subject to shut me up. Sometimes I would try and leave the hut, to see the outside world and how people lived, but she always reeled me back in. She would say things about how I could never leave, or how she envied my young body. As a girl, I wondered how I had a mother that looked as though she could be my grandmother.” This was the most Calandriel had ever heard her speak at once. Morrigan was hesitant at first, but relief began to take over her features. After all, who would be able to contact Flemeth from the middle of the sea?

“One time when I was young, I woke in the night to find my arms and legs tied to the bed. My mother was pacing around me, voicing incantations. It wasn’t all that unusual for her to chant this way, but not in the middle of the night and not after tying me up. She told me it was simply a game and to try to go back to sleep. I simply pretended to sleep until she finished whatever strange ritual she was performing. Then, this last time, I awoke in the middle of the night again to find a blade being pressed to my neck. Flemeth dropped the blade when I awoke and again said she was simply measuring me or some nonsense like that.” Morrigan rolled her eyes.

Calandriel listened attentively as she worked. 

“That was a few weeks before I came upon Astrid in the forest.” Morrigan continued. “After that night with the knife, I ran away. It was like I had known for years that she was simply raising me. She was never loving. She taught me many things, yes, but we were never affectionate as, well, you all seem to be with one another.” Morrigan stated this with a wave of her hand at Calandriel. 

“I can’t go back to her. I always had suspected she wanted to kill me, but that day in the Shaperate confirmed my suspicions.” Morrigan said grimly.

“You mean when you were reading about the _Asha’bellanar_?” Calandriel asked, slipping easily into the elvish words.

“Yes, exactly. She has been living an unnaturally long life for years and years. Her shapeshifting abilities have aided this some, but she has always raised daughters and killed them to inhabit their bodies. I wanted no such fate for myself.” Morrigan said bitterly.

Calandriel shook her head, her long hair swishing in a susurrus of motion. She didn’t know what to say.

“So now you have it, the Morrigan Story.” Morrigan laughed. 

“So you simply keep avoiding her? Don’t you think she’ll find you?” Calandriel asked. She strained the yam and herb juice from the paste into a small bottle. She squeezed a few snowberries over the mouth of the bottle to give the elixir a pink color and sweeter taste.

“Don’t you think the templars will find _you_?” Morrigan snapped back. “At least there is only one Flemeth. It can’t be done alone, but I think with a small, competent group, Flemeth could be killed.”

Calandriel nodded consideringly. She added one final drop of a distilling agent to the elixir and stoppered the bottle. She shook it a few times and then pocketed it, thinking of Astrid.

Morrigan and Calandriel spent the afternoon in the galley. They assembled poultices and mixed balms and salves out of their herbs and lard found in the cupboard. Calandriel was feeling better, more productive. Morrigan also seemed in better spirits with having something to do and someone to talk to. Calandriel wasn’t sure why she was so singled out as the one companion to get the witch to open up. Maybe it was because they were both mages, or both from the forest growing up. 

The two mages heard boots clomping down the steps towards the galley. Suddenly, Isabela’s voluptuous form filled the doorway.

“Are you beauties making dinner? Please, you are my guests aboard this ship, do not trouble yourselves!” Isabela smiled, her teeth a radiant white against her dark glowing skin.

“We can make dinner. That’s just it, we’re your guests, not Orlesian duchesses to be waited on hand and foot.” Calandriel was surprised at the confidence in her voice. She thought achingly of poor Zevran. She had no right to be jealous, and she wanted to show the captain how gracious and wonderful she was.

“If it means not having hardtack, I’ll help too.” Morrigan said dryly.

“If you are sure, but please do not go out of your way on my account. Any of my crew can boil a quick porridge between their duties. I feel like we mostly live on ale anyway!” Isabela laughed.

“No trouble at all.” Calandriel said, trying not to stare at Isabela’s figure, which was nearly the opposite of her own. “May we use some apples?” 

Isabela generously offered them free reign of the galley. All the goods she was selling or trading were packed safely away in the steerage, so any ingredients in plain sight were fair game. Apparently Anselmo had been the primary cook as well as Isabela’s first mate. The rest of the crew who stopped in the galley seemed relieved that they didn’t have to come up with anything to cook. They had enough work to do before sunset as it was.

* * *

Astrid awoke to a tantalizing smell drifting into the small cabin. The miniscule chamber smelled of mildew and rotting wood, so the difference was stark. Onions, butter, and something sweet. Astrid sat up, tugged on her new pink bodice which had shifted in her sleep, and pulled her skirt back down to her waist. She braided her hair again and got up, following her nose to the source of the scent. Astrid was walking down a narrow, dark hallway, when Alistair turned a corner and saw her.

“There you are!” he exclaimed, holding her elbows since he had nearly run into her. Astrid didn’t mind. She leaned on his arms to steady herself over the waves. “Calandriel and Morrigan have made us dinner. I wanted to find you to make sure you got some.” he was speaking so quickly. Still disoriented from napping and from being at sea, Astrid nodded and indicated for him to show her the way. When they arrived at the round table, Astrid’s stomach rumbled audibly.

Calandriel and Morrigan had made an apple and leek tart with a buttery, flaky crust, oozing with cheese. They had also boiled potatoes and mashed them, adding cream, salt and pepper. The ship’s crew had not waited for Astrid and Alistair, and was already greedily gobbling up dinner. Astrid sidled between two deck hands to grab a wedge of the tart. She scooped a heap of the mashed potatoes on top of it and ate it with her hands standing up since there was no more room at the table. On top of the table were more stoneware bottles of ale, rum, or Antivan brandy than food plates. Astrid did a double take, was Morrigan _smiling_? A young deck hand with curling brown hair and blue eyes praised the meal over and over.

“It reminds me of what me mam used to make when I was a wee boy.” he said in a lyrical accent to the witch.

“Well, I don’t want the comparisons to your mother to go beyond that.” Morrigan said sharply, trying to quell her smile. 

Isabela, who was sitting next to Oghren and having a lively conversation, leaned across the table to pour herself some wine. As she stepped, Oghren turned his head at the noise, coming into a full on collision with Isabela’s breasts, which hung like fruits in a tree.

“Oh my!” Isabela squealed. “I feel a rudder making waves!” She wriggled her shoulders and bobbled Oghren’s head back and forth before he broke free.

“And with that, I’m retiring for the evening.” Morrigan said, scooting around everyone else to find some solitude.

Calandriel was generally feeling much better than she had earlier that day, and poured some wine for she and Zevran. She had given him a little space since last night and the whole episode with the merchant ship that day, and he had been eager to be near her again at dinner. She smiled looking to see his hand on her knee under the table. That, and she felt happy knowing that besides her love of Zevran, she was beginning to feel friendly with Morrigan, and she had Astrid back always as well as Alistair. 

The food had long since gone now, and just booze remained. The wine the elves shared tonight was red and rich, making Calandriel feel heady with the swaying of the ship. The night before had been a late evening of cards and entertainment, but tonight, with bellies full of food and drink, the seafarers slowly retreated to their cabins down the hall. Unlike the three rooms at King Harrowmont’s palace, the Siren’s Call offered more cabins, although much smaller. Astrid helped Oghren to his feet with Alistair’s help and the two Wardens lay the dwarf down in a bed in a dark cabin. Alistair was instantly reminded of his first night meeting Oghren at Tapster’s. 

After putting Oghren to bed, Astrid returned to the cabin in which she had napped earlier that day. Morrigan must have found a different space, maybe one of the hammocks in the steerage where no one would bother her. Astrid saw that a single candle in the chamber had been lit. She crouched on the floor and pulled _Forgotten Faiths_ out of her pack.


	25. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astrid and Alistair share an intimate moment aboard the Siren's Call, but they are interrupted by a storm.

She had just opened the battered tome when she sensed motion in the doorway. 

“May I come in?” Alistair asked quietly, strangely shy considering the merry mood they had all just been in. 

“Yes!” Astrid said eagerly, wondering if she sounded stupid. 

“How are you enjoying the book so far?” Alistair asked, sitting next to Astrid leaning against the small bed. 

“It’s fascinating!” Astrid said passionately. “I just read about some primordial dwarven gods, from even before they revered the Paragons. It’s crazy to think that people can change so much. I’ll have to read more though, so I can discuss it with you.” Astrid finished quietly.

“To be honest, it’s been years since I’ve actually read it. It’s just this strange attachment that’s made me hold onto it for so long. I suppose out of nostalgia for my early days in templar training.” Alistair explained, gesturing idly at the book. 

“Well thank you again. It’s certainly helping the time go by.” Astrid said, tentatively touching his hand. Why was it like this every time they were together? She felt so nervous. Hadn’t they just gotten quite personal just a matter of days ago? Alistair wrapped his fingers around hers.

“It is rather strange, to have so much time on your hands. I’ve been doing nothing but think since we’ve boarded this ship, about the same things over and over like a ball bouncing on the wall of my skull. It’s maddening!” Alistair laughed.

“I know. I thought of my family and Highever today for the first time in weeks. I guess I’d been avoiding it, you know? What have you been thinking about?” Astrid asked, looking up at him to her right. His stubble was transforming into a beard, reddish hairs sprouting all over his chin, jaw, and cheeks. Astrid rather liked it. Between that and his borrowed frilly shirt, he only wanted a tattoo or an earring to pass as a pirate. 

“About Duncan.” Alistair let out a deflating sigh. “I wish you could have known him longer, Astrid. He was like a father to me. He just always seemed to know what to do. It would be so strange to hear him talk about joining the Wardens. He was only a kid when he was recruited, and a juvenile delinquent at that! He was under arrest but a Warden from Orlais, Genevieve, invoked the Rite of Conscription and he was legally forced to join the order. He could be so fun and yet so wise. He was a true role model for all of us. I forget that he’s gone and today remembering, well it’s just painful.” Alistair had removed his hand from Astrid’s and rubbed his nose discreetly. He was turning his head away from her.

“He sounds like an amazing person. I regret not being able to talk to him more than I did.” Astrid said, trying to sound comforting. “So you’ve just been thinking about Duncan and Ostagar?”

Alistair turned back to look at Astrid again face to face. “Well, yes and no.” He pursed his lips together in a straight line, inhaling quickly through his nose. “Astrid, I’ve been thinking a lot about you, too.”

Astrid giggled nervously. “Oh yes? Good things, I hope?” she asked, prodding him in the leg.

Alistair turned to look at the doorway to see if anyone was coming. They could still hear voices coming from the dining area. Zevran’s voice rose robustly in a song.

“Of course good things. Well, I think they’re good things, but I’m not altogether sure. It’s just, Astrid, I can’t stop thinking about the other night in Orzammar… with you.”

Astrid felt her heartbeat quicken. The mention of that evening drew her eyes to the collar of Alistair’s shirt. Ridiculously ruffled, it still hung open to reveal the golden curling hairs that dusted his broad chest.  
“Was it okay?” Astrid asked him.

“Maker, yes!” he exclaimed. “It was wonderful. It’s just that ever since then, I feel like I’m fighting a battle with myself every time I see you.” Alistair stammered, trying to go on with the right words.

“When I’m near you, all I can think of is you, with your shirt off and your breasts and stomach bared. I get excitable all over again and just want to pull you into a dark corner of this ship and do it again, and then some.” 

“Okay,” Astrid said calmly.

“But then I feel like an absolute monster for even having such thoughts.” he cried. “It’s the complete opposite of how I was brought up. I was supposed to serve a penance for even having thoughts of lust. And I don’t want to think of _you_ as something shameful.” Alistair sighed, not knowing what else to say.

“I know what you mean.” Astrid said. “I remember my Grandmother Cousland telling me if I so much kissed a lad before I was married, not courting or engaged, mind you, but married, that I was basically damaged goods and no one would take my hand in marriage. But I don’t see what’s wrong if two people genuinely lo--like each other very much, you know?” Astrid placed her hand on his arm again and he didn’t turn away.

“I suppose you’re right. And the thing is, I left the templars before I made any vows, and I’m glad I did. I chose not to have that life of orthodox rules and dogma. While it’s been dangerous as a Warden, it’s certainly been more exciting.” Alistair raised his eyebrows at her suggestively.

“I think your feelings are normal for someone with such a great sense of honor.” Astrid said reassuringly. “But do you ever think that the Chantry told you those things as boys so that they could convince you not to marry? So that they might have more recruits at the ready, free of commitments except for doing the Maker’s work? I’m sorry if it’s sacrilege, but I’ve never been the best at understanding the Chantry.” Astrid said.

“No, I see what you mean. Maybe it’s all just in my head. The Revered Mothers and Sisters are all in there, the holy scriptures, duties, rules. They don’t seem to mix well with my feelings for you.” Alistair said smiling.

Astrid snorted and scooted back from him. “Well then, if that’s the case, I’ll just--” but Alistair pulled her back.

“That’s not what I meant. Please don’t take it the wrong way. I really, _really_ like these new… feelings.” Alistair trailed off into a whisper. 

“Good. I do too.” Astrid whispered in return. She lifted her lips up to his face and lightly trailed them along his jawline. The bristling hairs tickled and scratched. Alistair turned his head and met her lips with his own. He delicately rested a hand on the back of her head and wrapped his other hand around her neck. Astrid’s kiss became more insistent. Alistair opened his mouth slightly and felt Astrid’s tongue slip past his own. He leaned back against the bedrail, still sitting on the somewhat steady floor. The waves were still pitching the ship back and forth into the evening. Astrid straddled Alistair’s hips with her knees and sat in his lap. All this talk about Alistair’s feelings had stirred up her own, and now she was entertaining them in the dim room. 

Alistair was squeezing Astrid closer to him, her chest pressed up to his own.

“Astrid,” he breathed between kisses. “As difficult. As. It is. For me. To say this. I’m not. Ready. To go. All the way.” 

“It’s alright. I can’t yet, either.” Astrid whispered softly as she writhed in his lap. 

Before Alistair could reply, an earsplitting boom of thunder resounded outside the ship. Astrid leaned back from the knight, looking around. They had been so distracted in their kissing that they hadn’t noticed the steady increase of the waves. The ship was positively swaying dramatically up and down.

“What’s happening?” Alistair asked. “A storm?” They both turned their heads up in the direction of the deck, as if they could tell what was happening. Astrid could hear shouting.

* * *

At the dining table, Calandriel and Zevran had been sitting in a wine-induced relaxation enjoying tall tales of the sea from the crew. Sitting next to Zevran, feeling his hands on her beneath the table, Calandriel didn’t even mind Isabela as much. She was so dramatic, so over the top, such a… pirate! Occasionally she caught Isabela staring at them in an appraising way. Calandriel had made the decision to not care for the rest of the night. They would only be on the ship for a few more days after all. She rested her head again on Zevran as he recounted a rather humorous tale of an Antivan noble girl who had attempted to hire him to kill her elderly chaperone. The noble girl claimed her chaperone snored too much and smelled of prunes and therefore must die. His story was interrupted by Isabela, who held a single finger up in the air. She sniffed twice.

“A storm is brewing.” the captain said sagely. In perfect timing, thunder cracked loudly. Calandriel could see lightning out the window. She could hear the sound of rain as it started to pelt against the wooden deck. 

“Alright you lethargic lot, batten down the hatches! Furl the sails!” Isabela ordered in a commandeering voice. All of the ship hands leapt out of their seats around the table. Zevran stood up, holding Calandriel’s hand. Isabela turned to the elven woman before she left the dining room. 

“You may want to stay below deck for this one, darling. It could get nasty.” Isabela chuckled, unfazed by the way the Siren’s Call suddenly lurched to the port side. The bottles on the table tipped over and rolled to the floor. Zevran nodded and looked at Calandriel. “Be safe, my moon flower.” the Antivan said. 

“I’m coming up.” Calandriel said defiantly. “Just let me grab my staff.” Zevran did not protest, but worry furrowed his brow. He cared deeply for Calandriel, and the dangers of the sea could claim anyone.

Calandriel scampered to the room she thought she had set her things in after she and Morrigan had finished cutting herbs earlier. She burst in through the doorway to see Astrid sitting on Alistair’s lap in the dim candlelight. The young woman’s skirt was hiked up as her legs wrapped around his waist. Their faces were red and Astrid’s hair formed a halo of frizzy flyaway curls. 

“Don’t mind me!” Calandriel said as the two quickly moved to get into a decent position. “Oh, that reminds me, Astrid.” Calandriel opened her satchel and rummaged for a few moments until she remembered the object of her search was in her pocket. She pulled out the bottle of pink liquid from her robes and handed it to Astrid. Alistair looked at the item curiously as well. Astrid quickly tucked it into her own pack without a word.

“There’s a storm! I’m going to go help the crew. If Morrigan asks, tell her I’m on deck!” Calandriel spoke loudly to the couple as she left the room. The ship lurched again and Astrid could hear water sloshing around back in the cargo. The thunder was deafening. Astrid’s racing heart had switched from arousal to anxiety. A table in the room toppled over, knocking the candle to the ground and leaving them in complete darkness.

Meanwhile, Calandriel climbed the stairs to the deck. Her bare feet gripped the wooden planks and she steadied herself with her white staff. Somewhere deep within her, her ancestors’ blood pumped and coursed. Water was just another element, one to be revered, but not feared tonight. Calandriel looked up to see Zevran climbing almost to the top of a rig to pull up a sail with the crew. She couldn’t climb up there with him, but she could help. She strode forward, wading in nearly a foot of water from the rain and from the ocean spilling into the ship. Mustering her mana and focusing her mind, she cast a glyph spell of repelling water. As she struck her staff to the deck, the water flew away in streams and droplets, splashing over the edge of the ship. She was in the center of a circle of dry deck. The falling rain in this area simply splashed aside. 

Steadily, she made her way around the greater part of the deck of the ship. The waves were still perilous and she lost her balance once or twice, but she kept on casting the area spells one at a time. The ship was still swaying back and forth as the wind howled around her. She looked up again at the sail where she had seen Zevran, shielding her eyes from the rain. He slid down a rope and made his way to her as quickly as he could. 

“Are you alright?” he shouted. 

“Yes!” Calandriel yelled back. Her long hair whipped in her face. “I have an idea. I need you to please stand near me and help me stay steady!” she asked Zevran. They leaned against the railing of the steps leading up to the steer and he held her around the waist.

Back below deck, Astrid and Alistair now arranged themselves in a similar way. Astrid sat on the floor between Alistair’s knees. He wrapped his arms around her waist to steady her and have something sturdy to hold on to. Astrid clutched his arms.

“I’ve never been on a ship. I’ve never been on a ship in a storm. What if we sink? What if we die?” Astrid sounded panicked. Water was starting to seep into the dark room from the cargo, they could feel it soaking their clothes as they sat on the floor. 

“Astrid, do you know the Canticle of Trials?” Alistair asked her loudly through the roar of the waves. “Let’s just say it, it doesn’t matter whether you believe it or not.” Astrid didn’t protest. In a loud, shaky unison, they began to recite:

_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade_

_For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker’s Light._

_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost._

Astrid instantly recalled being a girl and saying this canticle with her mother before bed. For Alistair, the rote repetition of the words and Astrid’s solid warmth carried his mind away from the danger at hand.

Calandriel slowly drank a potent bottle of lyrium. She felt her gorge rise as though she were about to be sick, but she quelled it with a deep breath. _If I can produce elements as a mage, surely I can reduce them?_ the mage thought. It was a known form, subtractive magic. It was not encouraged or widely discussed at the Circle tower, but she had certainly read enough about the concept. It was simple enough. Most spells had counterspells. She concentrated and thought of the lightning and blizzard storm spells she had performed countless times before as a higher level enchanter. The key was just to reverse the process.

The elf raised her staff in the air and she began to incant syllables slowly, trying to remember the exact order. She rotated her staff in a counter-clockwise direction as white hot energy began to swirl from the staff.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!!” Isabela called out from the steer, where she was struggling madly to keep the ship upright.

“Leave her be! She knows what she’s doing!” Zevran shouted in return at the captain.

The energy from Calandriel’s staff branched out farther and farther, creating a web of crackling energy in the air. She kept repeating the syllables over and over, not even thinking of them as words. She couldn’t break concentration. The web expanded and now covered Isabela at the steer and the entrance to the cargo below deck. The deck was still dry from her water repelling glyphs, but now the wind itself seemed unable to penetrate the web of the enchantment. Sweating and trembling, she continued to cast the spell until the web covered the entire Siren’s Call. It appeared as though the ship were in a glass dome, simply floating on the water as the storm raged on around it. 

Still holding the empty lyrium bottle in her left hand, she waved it in front of Zevran. He reached down in the pockets of her robes to find another large glass bottle of the thick blue liquid. He unstoppered it and held it to her lips. The ship still floated up and down on the waves, but it remained upright and protected from the blasting gales. Calandriel drank as Zevran tipped the potion in. It was disgusting, but she could feel the strain ease as her mana began to replenish itself.

Calandriel held the web intact for the remainder of the storm, over an hour of excruciating effort. When the rain eased up and the thunder could no longer be heard, she weakly drew the web of energy back into her staff. If only her instructors could have see what she’d just done! She turned and hugged Zevran in exhilaration and cried tears of relief and exhaustion. 

“I can truly say I have never seen anything like that in my life.” Zevran said. He took her head in both hands and kissed her gently. He pulled her close to him and held her tightly as she trembled with fatigue.  
“I think I need to lay down,” Calandriel said, collapsing into his arms. With care, he propped her up and brought her to the cabins. 

The noise of it roused Astrid and Alistair from the room where they still held each other. Astrid went to the door to see what had happened. She peeked her head out, and seeing Zevran, she gasped. “Is she alright? What happened?” She stepped into the hallway. 

“She will be alright. She just needs to rest.” Zevran ducked into one of the other rooms and laid down the mage before re-emerging in the hallway again. He looked Astrid up and down. “And it seems by the look of things, Lady Astrid, that you are in need of some rest too! Wild night tonight?” He laughed.

“Wha?” Astrid glanced down. Her skirt was sideways, her bodice partially unlaced. A small round mirror hung on the wall across from her and she quickly checked herself in it. Her hair was a mess. She made a flustered noise of embarrassment before darting back into the cabin, tugging at her skirt as she went. She closed the door with a loud snap to drown out the assassin’s chuckling. 

“It sounds like the storm has passed,” Alistair said from the bed. “Would you… care to sleep with me? I mean-- _sleep_ \--with me. You know, like…” he proceeded to put his hands together against his cheek and make a snoring noise to clarify what he meant. 

Astrid quit fidgeting with her garments and laid down on the bed next to him. “I would like nothing better,” she said, giving him a gentle kiss. He wrapped his arms around her and the two of them eventually fell into a comfortable sleep.


	26. Ship of Shattered Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some shit goes down aboard the Siren's Call. What more can I say? Just read it before I cry. ;-;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter nearly made me cry. ;-;

“We’ll be making port by morning,” Isabela said the next day. “Which means one last night of debauchery!” She laughed from where she sat on top of a barrel, sharpening her blade.

The companions could not help but notice the way she sat with one knee drawn up. If it weren’t for the flap of strategically placed fabric that hung down from the tattered dress that she wore, they could have seen everything. Calandriel tried hard to ignore it. She still felt weak and drained from the previous evening.

“And you, my dear!” Isabela said to the elf. “I cannot thank you enough for saving my ship.”

“I didn’t do it for the ship,” Calandriel said, a little harsher than she meant to sound. Isabela had been nothing but generous to them, though she couldn’t help but continue to feel a rivalry with this woman from Zevran’s past. 

Isabela, sharp as the blade in her hand, noted the disdain in the elven woman’s voice. “It’s tradition to have one final party before we reach land,” she said. “I’ve been saving some vintage Antivan brandy for the occasion. I’d like you all to share it with me.”

“That stuff’s for sissies. You got any dwarven whiskey?” Oghren piped up. 

“Oh, but my dear, I don’t think you’ve had Antivan brandy quite like this! Triple-fired, aged ten years in Tevinter oak, spiced with the signature cinnamon of Antiva City. I seized it during a raid on Rialto Bay. Even a man of your… _size_ … will be on the floor after just a taste.”

Oghren’s ruddy face became ruddier at the way her eyes scanned him when she said the word “size.” 

_Disgusting_ , Calandriel thought. _I hope she means his short stature._ “Wardens, I think we should discuss our plans for when we get to Denerim,” she said loudly, wanting to turn everyone’s attention away from the pirate queen. 

Alistair, Astrid, and Calandriel spent the rest of the afternoon plotting out their course. They would plan to spend the next day and night in the city; no longer, lest their location be discovered. Calandriel would have to disguise herself and keep her staff hidden. A highly populated city was bound to be full of templars, not to mention elven hostility. From there, they would make their way to the forest. “If my parents are there,” Calandriel said, “we’ll have no trouble convincing the elves to join our cause. I’m certain of it!” 

The rest of the day passed by quietly. Calandriel kept to herself, observing her companions from a distance. Oghren seemed to follow Morrigan around like a lost puppy. The mage slapped him across the face at least once but Calandriel could tell that she secretly enjoyed the attention, even if it was coming from an uncouth slob. She looked to Astrid and Alistair, who were gazing out over the railing and speaking in hushed but excited voices. They looked so comfortable in each other’s presence now. She noted the way Alistair lightly touched her friend’s arm and the look in his eyes as he talked to her or listened to her intently. He brushed the hair out of her face when the wind picked up and the two of them shared a laugh. Their sweetness was all too much for her right now. She had been feeling increasingly alone on this voyage, and seeing the two of them together did not help. She reluctantly glanced up at the helm, where Isabela and Zevran were hanging out once again and felt an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. They looked like they belonged together. The captain had even applied some of her kohl makeup to Zevran’s eyes, making him look like a smoldering pirate. She could not look at them anymore and glanced away. _Soon, we will be rid of her_ , she thought, and tried to turn her attentions to more positive thoughts. She reminded herself of the prospect of being reunited with her parents and returning to the Dalish.

* * *

As promised, that evening there was a celebration. A few of Isabela’s crew pulled out instruments and began to play on the main deck. Others danced to the hypnotic drums and violin, while still others drank themselves into a frenzy. Isabela invited the Wardens, Oghren, and Morrigan to join her and Zevran on the upper deck where they perched themselves atop crates and barrels. The weather was excellent; a light, cool breeze, and a clear, star-speckled sky. Isabela unstoppered the bottle of amber-colored liquid that she held between her thighs. “A toast to my new friends!” she said, holding the large jug up over her head, though she did not yet take a drink. She handed the bottle to Calandriel. “For your service to me and my crew, I offer you the first drink.”

Calandriel looked at it like it was poisoned, but a quick glance around at her companions convinced her to take a swig. As much as she did not like this woman, she didn’t want to appear rude. She sniffed the contents of the jug, and deeming that it was pleasant enough, took a drink. The brandy had a spicy, smokey flavor, though it was surprisingly smooth. She kept her eyes on the captain as she drank more deeply than just a sip. 

Oghren began to clap and cheer at the amount she was intaking. Calandriel handed the jug to Astrid next and they passed it around until everyone had had a drink. _This stuff’s not so bad_ , Calandriel thought. _Not my usual style, but nothing to ‘knock me on the floor.’_ But she was wrong. Within an hour of sharing the Antivan brandy, they were all far gone. Even Alistair was laughing hysterically at seemingly nothing, and his laughter was contagious. After a while, he took Astrid by the hand and pulled her to the lower deck, where they began to dance. The rest of the companions and Isabela leaned over the top railing and watched them with interest. To a sober person, their dancing would have been a clumsy mess, but to the drunken pirates and travelers, they looked like the most skilled couple at an Orlesian ball. 

Oghren puffed out his chest and turned to Morrigan, “My lady,” he said, trying to sound dignified. “Would you care to have this dance? Hehe.”

Morrigan considered him for a moment and then said blankly, “I’d rather die,” before leaving the upper deck to seek out the young man who’d complimented her cooking the night before.

Oghren was not deterred, though. He laughed uproariously. “Just as feisty as ever! You remind me of Branka.” With that, he made his way to the lower deck and cut in to dance with Astrid, who welcomed him and giggled at his ridiculous attempts at a jig.

That left Calandriel, Zevran, and Isabela near the helm. “Ah, so it is just me, Zevran, and two beautiful ladies. Whatever shall we do?” the rogue said suggestively. He put a hand on Calandriel’s face to draw her in, but she pushed him away. 

“Whatever you have in mind, count me out,” Calandriel said, annoyed. The drink made it hard for her to conceal her feelings. She left the upper deck and sought out the cabin she had been sleeping in throughout the voyage. She could feel the thoughts she’d been trying so desperately to avoid bubble up to the surface. She loved Zevran, and his flirtatious nature was part of what had attracted her to him in the first place. His confidence was irresistible, but his obliviousness was a cause for pain. _Just don’t think about it_ , she reminded herself. _Zevran may be flirty, but he’s loyal. He would never hurt me on purpose. Just one more night and she’ll be gone_. She settled into bed, eventually falling into a fitful sleep that did not last for very long. She awoke some hours later, the ship now silent except for the creaking of the wood and the gentle splash of waves against the hull, a stark contrast to the raucous laughter and music of earlier. Try as she might, she could not go to sleep again. 

She decided to get some fresh air and arose from her bed, making her way into the hall. She closed the door with a soft click but hesitated before heading towards the door that would lead her to the main deck. Something held her back. Was it just curiosity? Or craziness? She felt absolutely mad, but she turned left towards the captain’s quarters, her heart racing. Each step felt like an eternity, but some invisible force urged her onward. She knew even before opening the door. She turned the handle silently and eased it open just enough to peer in. There, in the captain’s bed, lay Isabela and Zevran. Both of them naked. She stared at them for a moment, not wanting to believe, even though in her heart, she’d already known. Her silver eyes began to fill with tears and she pulled the door shut with a loud slam and ran down the hall, bursting onto the deck. She looked around frantically, feeling panicked, before rushing to the railing and peering down into the black endless water below. She wanted so badly to jump into its icy depths, just to end the anguish that she felt, but she could not bring herself to. Tears fell freely from her eyes now as she slumped onto the deck, shielding her face with her hands. She had never felt so heartbroken, not even when Cullen had ended their affair at the Circle tower two years ago. She wished there was some kind of healing potion that could mend a broken heart. 

Calandriel remained in this position for some time, not caring if the ship hand that now manned the helm or the lookout above could hear. She shook with sobbing as more thoughts than just Zevran’s betrayal came to her. For the first time since leaving, she missed her home at the Circle tower. Despite lacking many freedoms, it had felt so safe. She never had to worry where her next meal was coming from or where she would sleep at night. There was no one calling her knife-ear, making her feel different. She briefly entertained the idea of seeking out the templars in Denerim and turning herself in just so that she could go back, but then she remembered her companions. Astrid and Alistair needed her help in ending the Blight. They were the only three Grey Wardens left in the whole of Ferelden. She could not abandon them now. Then there were the elves. She remembered the faces of the elven women from the slave ship, their spirits more broken than her heart was now. _How can I allow myself to be so upset over something so trivial when my people are dying and being enslaved?_ she thought angrily, though her heart still ached. 

Too weak from drink, exhaustion, and sorrow, Calandriel eventually fell asleep curled up on the deck, her face still buried in her hands, her heart on her sleeves.

* * *

Calandriel had awoken early the next morning. The brightness of the sunrise made it impossible for her to sleep, and her back was sore from lying on the hard wooden floor of the deck. She made her way back into the hall where the cabins were and her eyes lingered for just a moment on Isabela’s door before she retired to her own quarters. She would not be leaving them until the journey was over, she decided.

The rest of the traveling companions had slept in late, needing the extra rest after a night of drinking and dancing. After breaking their fast on some bacon butties one of the crew had whipped up, they gathered on the deck, all except for Calandriel. 

“I can see land!” Astrid said excitedly. “We’re almost there.” She was grateful the voyage had brought them all closer together, but she was eager to set foot on dry, unmoving land after spending so much time on the choppy seas. 

“Just a couple more hours,” Isabela said, leaning against the helm. “I must say, I’ll be sad to see you all go. It’s been such _fun_ having you all aboard!” She gave Zevran a salacious look and he walked away without responding. The look on his face said all too much. 

Now that she thought about it, Astrid _had_ noticed a drastic change in the rogue that morning. He was not hitting on everyone incessantly, and he seemed to be avoiding Isabela. Normally he was upbeat and wouldn’t shut up, but now he was silent and sulking. What had happened last night? She couldn’t remember anything past dancing with Oghren and Alistair. And where was Calandriel? She scanned the vessel but there was no sign of her friend. 

Astrid made her way into the cabin corridor and found Calandriel’s door. She knocked on it softly. “Calandriel, are you awake?” There was no response from within. She pushed the door open gently and found her friend lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Are you alright??” she asked, alarmed. 

“I’m fine,” Calandriel said unconvincingly. 

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” Astrid said, shutting the door behind her and stepping closer to the bed where the elf lay. “Something’s up. What happened last night?”

Calandriel continued to stare unblinkingly at the ceiling, pretending to be interested in the damp boards above her. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she mumbled after a while and turned over.

Astrid was undeterred. She stepped closer and sat on the edge of the bed, placing a hand comfortingly on her friend’s shoulder. “Did something happen between you and Zevran?”

“More like Isabela and Zevran,” Calandriel said finally, curling herself tightly into a ball. Her voice was weak. 

_That bastard_ , Astrid thought angrily. _And that bitch._ “I’m so sorry,” she said aloud. 

Calandriel sniffed and sat up. “Me too,” she said, hugging herself. “Are we almost to Denerim? I can’t take being on this accursed ship much longer.” 

“We’ll be there in just a couple of hours it sounds like. Do you want to talk?” 

Calandriel regarded Astrid with astonishment. She had never had a friend so selfless and caring before. Even if she could have told Jowan back at the Circle tower about Cullen, he definitely wouldn’t have been this attentive. “No, it’s alright,” she managed. “I’m just going to stay in here until we reach the shore. Thank you, Astrid.”

Astrid nodded, gripped Calandriel’s hand gently in a reassuring manner, and then returned to the deck. As she emerged from the cabins, she saw Zevran. She glared at him. His expression was helpless and guilty before he looked away, unable to maintain eye contact with her. Astrid strode purposefully toward him regardless. “I think you owe someone an apology,” she said as she stood next to the rogue and stared out at the coast.

Zevran nodded and without so much as exchanging looks with her, he disappeared into the cabins. 

He knocked softly on Calandriel’s door. 

Thinking it must be Astrid returning, she opened it. Upon seeing Zevran standing over the threshold, she attempted to close it in his face, but he took a step inward, blocking the door with his leg. 

Calandriel gave up and sat down on the bed, covering her face with the palms of her hands. “I don’t want to see you,” she said, her voice trembling. 

Zevran slipped into the room and shut the door behind him. “Calandriel…” He sat down beside her, carefully pulling her hands down so that they rested in his own. “Look at me. Please? I know I do not deserve it, but...”

Slowly, she turned to face him. Her eyes were welling with tears once again. 

“I am truly sorry for the pain that I have caused you. But you must believe me when I tell you, I have never loved anyone as I have loved you.”

She looked away at his words, but he cupped a hand to her chin, forcing her to look at him again. “But for all the love I feel for you, I fear I cannot change who I am. I was raised by _prostitutes_ ,” he said, a slight bitterness creeping into his voice. “And assassins. Detachment is the first thing I learned, a lesson I cannot forget. I can never be as loyal as you want me to be, and for that I am truly sorry. You deserve better. You deserve one who will not hurt you as I have.”

Calandriel could look at him no longer. His eyes were just as glassy as her own, and she knew he meant what he said. She closed her eyes and felt tears streaming down her cheeks. Zevran put his arms around her and she pressed herself up against his chest, wondering if this would be the last time they were this close. 

“Do what you will with me,” he said, his voice rumbling in her ear as she laid her head against his chest. “Kill me, cast me out, though I would sooner die than to leave your side, even if you do not forgive me.”

Calandriel inhaled sharply, having held back her breath as she cried silently. She felt like such a fool, but she knew that Zevran was not lying when he said he loved her. “Stay,” she said, and the two of them held each other in this way for the remainder of the voyage.


	27. Denerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran gets gussied up. Calandriel struggles between being hurt and wanting to forgive. 
> 
> Alistair and Astrid too face a rift in their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to lavenderbee for the detailed, indulgent descriptions of Zevran getting dressed up in drag! She knows how much I love pretty men in makeup. 
> 
> Also, this section still needs a minor edit. I want to make it known that the prostitutes at the Pearl are there voluntarily and treated relatively well. It wouldn't make sense for Isabela to free slaves in a previous chapter, but then go on to support an establishment where the women are there against their will.

At last, Calandriel heard a bell ringing from above deck. Didn’t this mean they were pulling in to dock? She broke apart from Zevran and rose. The ship was moving at a crawl, and she easily found her footing. She shrunk her staff and tucked it away into her satchel. She also made sure to hide the amulet she usually wore beneath the collar of her robes. They hadn’t even stopped yet, but she already drew the hood of her purple robes far over her head. She did not want to take any more chances than she had to in Denerim. 

“You do not have an extra beautiful flowing cloak, do you, my dear?” Zevran asked. His voice had taken a timid tone with her since he had joined her in the room. It was really unsettling to hear Zevran so sullen. Calandriel shook her head brusquely. She wasn’t going to try to cheer him up. She hoped this was the only time that this would happen and that maybe she and Zevran would come out stronger for it. _What am I thinking?_ she thought. _What he said is true. Attachment and fidelity aren’t his strong suits._ Suits made her think of cards, and cards made her think of Isabela, and soon enough she felt her heart lurch in her chest and she had to bite her trembling lip all over again. Facing away from Zevran, she asked, “What do you need a cloak for?” trying to refrain from getting emotional again before going above deck.

“I have not been back to Denerim since I broke my last contract. None of my peers survived and I would be the last point of contact with… Teyrn Mac Tir.” Zevran whispered the name, looking around the room as if the lieutenant would spring from beneath the tiny bed.

“I see.” Calandriel said. “Well, maybe someone on board or in the city can lend you one. You’re a rogue. You’re good at hiding things.” Realizing what she just said, Calandriel snorted in frustration. Zevran shook his head. If he’d been offended he didn’t show it. He seemed to be true to his word in wanting to seek Calandriel’s forgiveness.

“I’ll see where we are docking and we can go from there.” Zevran said. He held a golden arm out to Calandriel, which she took just up the first step. She then let go, and guided herself up the steps. She was glad she had pulled her hood on. The sun was so bright, everyone else was shielding their eyes with outstretched hands as they peered at the great city of Denerim. 

Isabela stood at the head of the ship, calling back to one of her mates who was steering. “We’re docking on the East side of the city, near The Pearl!” the captain shouted. “That’s where my largest order for rum and brandy must be delivered.”

“Maker, me, I didn’t think there would be any spirits left on board after last night.” Alistair groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose in discomfort. He had changed back into his full armor and had his sword and pack ready to go. Seeing Calandriel come up, Astrid went over to her friend. 

“Is everything alright?” Astrid whispered, trying to meet Calandriel’s silver gaze in the depths of the mage’s hood. Calandriel simply nodded. Alistair joined them.

“I’m sorry you have to be disguised again.” Alistair said sympathetically to Calandriel. She simply shrugged.

“Listen, Calandriel,” Alistair began again, sounding even more awkward. “Hypothetically, let’s just say if you ever needed someone’s arse thoroughly beaten to a pulp, I could do it for you.” 

At this, Calandriel’s head bolted upright and her eyes bore into Astrid’s. “Did you tell him?!?!” she hissed.

Astrid shook her head violently. “No, I swear! I didn’t tell him anything.”

Alistair held his gloved hands out between them. “I didn’t know where Astrid had gone this morning for a little while. When she came back up I asked and she just said she was with you and that you were upset. I know nothing!” 

Astrid’s brown eyes grew large as she looked earnestly at her friend. 

“It’s alright. I believe you, Alistair.” Calandriel said tiredly. “And thanks… you two.” 

“Of course.” Astrid said, placing her hand on Calandriel’s back again.

“And Calandriel, just let me know about what I said. I haven’t practised my holy smite in at least a few days!” Alistair said happily.

Oghren, Morrigan, Astrid, and Alistair all leaned excitedly against the rail to watch Siren’s Call pull slowly into the narrow port. Calandriel and Zevran stood at the stern of the ship to avoid being seen by the hoards of people standing on the pier. Isabela’s crew was already rolling up barrel after barrel of brandy and rum from the cargo. When the ship had docked and had been tied down, Isabela ordered her crew to bring in all of the order for The Pearl and that they could meet her inside afterwards. 

One by one, the Wardens and their companions walked down the ramp from the ship. Most of them didn’t bother to look back at the Siren’s Call. Oghren fell over onto the dock. They didn’t know if it was due to his sea legs or if he was still intoxicated. Most likely some combination of the two. Morrigan helped lift him up, much to the astonishment of the rest of the party.

“What?” she cried. “If he got his face stepped on he’d be even uglier to look at than he already is and we don’t want that!” She leaned on her staff and hoped it looked like a walking stick. Alistair had warned her at least five times already not to use magic in plain sight in the city. They all followed Isabela, who walked confidently through the narrow streets filled with crowds. She occasionally called out to some of the street merchants in greeting. 

They finally approached a street corner where a large building stood. Its walls were creamy white and the closed shutters were painted blue. It looked Orlesian in style compared to the solid brick and mortar buildings that surrounded it. Above the building’s corner street entrance hung a wooden sign in the shape of a shield. There were no words on the sign, just a white moon, or a pearl! It sat on a deep purple background.

“Welcome, my friends, to The Pearl!” Isabela said proudly, turning to the group one last time before they entered.

“I’ve heard of pearls. Supposed to be gems of the sea, aren’t they?” Oghren commented.

“I don’t think they have those kinds of pearls here.” Alistair said, already tugging at his collar. 

“Is this a tavern?” Astrid asked Isabela with no more emotion than necessary. She wanted to yank the wench’s hair, and Zevran’s, too, for that matter. In the end, Astrid decided to try not to meddle. Supporting Calandriel was more important. 

Isabela smiled. “Well yes, I am supplying them with spirits so I suppose you could call it a tavern. I might add that they specialize in other… entertainments.” 

Astrid looked from Isabela back up to Alistair, whose cheeks were red as tomatoes.

“So it’s a brothel?” Astrid deduced. “Wow!” Despite it all, she felt a small thrill of excitement doing things or going places she never would have done had she remained at court. 

As they strolled in, their feet were met with plush purple carpets lining the entrance. Isabela strode to a woman standing at the end of the hall. 

“Sanga, my darling!” Isabela crooned. “I’ve got my crew bringing in your order. I also managed to find some of that small batch from Val Royeaux you’ve been asking about.” Isabela embraced the woman intimately and kept talking without removing her arms. The proprietor, Sanga, didn’t seem to mind. She was in the business of physical affections, after all.   
Sanga looked over Isabela’s shoulder towards the back of the group where Calandriel and Zevran were lurking. 

“Zevran? Is that you? Come on up here, you dog!” Sanga called with a loud cackle. _Here we go again_ , Calandriel thought, but she was surprised to feel his hand grip her tightly around the wrist and bring her with him to meet Sanga.

Zevran bowed elegantly to The Pearl’s keeper. Sanga and Isabela looked at each other, clearly puzzled. Calandriel wondered if he would normally have greeted the woman as Isabela had.   
“May I present the lovely Cal--” Zevran began, looking at Calandriel. 

“Kaja!” Calandriel said quickly and held her robes up in a curtsy. She couldn’t take any chances in this city. It was all so formal, considering their environment. It did seem to be a step above your average tavern or brothel, though. At the end of the entrance hallway was a large mahogany bar and several stools. Calandriel couldn’t see much beyond that.

“Dear Sanga,” Zevran said delicately. “My companions and I have business in the city. At the moment, I do not wish to show myself in daylight but I’m afraid it cannot be avoided. Have you any robes, hats, or cloaks I might borrow? I’d be happy to cover the expense.” 

“Oh, if only you’d come a day earlier!” Sanga exclaimed. “I had my girls bring down all the extra rags and coats our patrons have left here and brought them to the alienage. It was too much of a mess. But that does give me an idea. We’ve still got plenty of… garments left.” At this, Sanga stepped away from them for a moment and called down a hallway. 

“Louisa! Come show me all your gowns! She’s my tallest.” Sanga turned back and said to Zevran, beaming. “And Collette, bring your hatbox. I have someone for you to work on. Quick, quick!” It was mid day, not the peak time for business at The Pearl. Most of last night’s customers had already left. A few young noble looking men sat at a table near the bar, nursing hangovers with more ale. 

Suddenly, a woman with dark eyes and long curling black hair emerged from the hallway. She wore a simple shift over her dark skin, but the dresses she had draped over her arm covered most of her body. This must be Louisa. Calandriel stared at Zevran to see if there was any recognition in his face, but she couldn’t detect any. 

“Normally Sanga is complaining about my height and broad shoulders. I’m glad to see that they can be appreciated.” Louisa said as she held out the dresses for Zevran. He chose a deep crimson shimmering number. It had a golden laced corset for the top and a long, voluminous skirt to go with. “Do you want to try it on?” Louisa asked. Apparently asking a man to try on one of her dresses was nothing new to her. Zevran simply nodded. He and Calandriel followed Louisa back to her room. 

Zevran shimmied out of his leathers quickly. Calandriel fought a smile. Why did he have to be so good looking? In just his boots, he stepped into the poofy red skirt. Calandriel helped him fasten it. Next was the bodice. Louisa and Calandriel worked together to lace him up tightly. 

“Hold on,” Louisa said, holding up a finger before they tied the top of the corset and sleeves. Stepping to a chest of drawers and back, Louisa bunched up two silk stockings in her hands and stuffed them into the top of Zevran’s corset before they tied it securely. Calandriel thought the deep red suited him. He was already swirling around the room, fanning out his arms in the silk sleeves that were tied on. They left Louisa’s room and returned to the main entrance. Isabela had gone to help her crew and the rest of the companions were sitting near the bar and holding their packs. 

A plump girl with stringy brown hair came up to Calandriel and Zevran holding a large round hat box. 

“Madame Sanga said you need your hair and face done? Have a seat, Collette will take care of ye.” the girl said in a nasal drawl. Zevran sat at a small round table at the bar near the others. Collette sat in front of him and set down the hat box. She opened it. Inside was a treasure trove of small bottles and jars, brushes, rouge, lip rouge, a pot of mascara, ribbons, silk flowers, and countless other items for decoration. Collette deftly unbraided Zevran’s hair and combed it out. She gathered it all at the nape of his neck and pinned it in a comely bun, complete with a mother of pearl comb. She found some pearl earrings that Sanga had supplied her with for the namesake of the brothel, but Zevran was already wearing two small gold hoops in his pointed ears. Finished with his silky blonde hair, Collette plopped herself down in front of the Antivan elf and unscrewed a small round container. She pulled out a powder puff and began blotting at Zevran’s golden skin with the pressed powder. He promptly sneezed.

At this, Astrid, Alistair, Oghren, and Morrigan turned to see what was going on. 

“Heh, heh! That looks like Zerlina over there!” Oghren laughed. 

Astrid stood up and walked over near Calandriel to better see the action. She nudged Calandriel and gave her friend a fruitful smile. It really was hilarious. Calandriel was having a difficult time remaining angry with Zevran as she saw his transformation. Plus, Isabela was nowhere in sight. It was a new day in a new city. 

Collette went on to dab some rouge on his cheeks. When she saw some leftover kohl smudges on his eyes she laughed.

“Already been experimenting, have ya? You make a lovely lass.” Collette remarked with a derisive chuckle.

She lined his eyes and eyebrows, found a deep red lip paint to match his dress, and finally swept his long eyelashes with some of the dark black mascara. Zevran looked at Calandriel first. She couldn’t help it, she laughed. He rose from his seat and held out his dress skirt in both hands and swanned around the room. The distraction seemed to cheer him up as well. He was now affecting the same falsetto he had entranced Oghren with back at Tapster’s the week before. He fluttered his eyelashes and stepped up to Calandriel, giving her a great kiss on the cheek, leaving an imprint of his lips. 

“Well, as much fun as this all is, I’d really like to head to the Market District and see if I can get into the Grey Warden vault there. Does anybody want to come with me or are you all staying here?” Alistair said, rising up from the table where he was sitting with Astrid and Oghren. 

At this moment, Sanga bustled back into the room. “Speaking of staying here, you all are welcome to stay tonight. Isabela said you might need to before you continue your travels. She has done so much to keep me supplied in these harsh times, so any friend of Isabela’s…” she said kindly to them all. 

Astrid and Calandriel got up, as well as Oghren and Morrigan. Zevran was ready for his Denerim debut. As tired as they all felt from the journey, they knew this was the one chance to be in a large city again before the long and remote way to the Brecilian Forest. They all followed Alistair out of The Pearl with the intent to return there to sleep that night. While the whole point of Zevran’s disguise had been to hide his identity, he was certainly being conspicuous. He would wink at city guards as they walked past, or pretend to drop a handkerchief.   
Calandriel still did not want to cozy up to him while they were out and about, but inside she knew it was hilarious. 

As they made their way through a deserted alley to get to the Market District, a shady looking man stepped up to Zevran, who was now trailing the group. 

“Hey, sweet thing! Can I try your elven wares?” he said, pinching Zevran’s bottom through the voluminous skirt. At this, Zevran turned around, wound his arm, and punched the man in the mouth. He toppled over onto his back, still calling after them.

“It’s alright, darling! I like it rough! Come back!”

Alistair stepped back to Zevran. “I really think it’s in your best interest to not draw quite so much attention to yourself. We’re almost to the Market District and there will be a lot more guards and soldiers there who could turn you in.”

Zevran simply nodded and decided to chat with Oghren about his plans for their night at The Pearl. 

Finally, they arrived at the gates of the bustling market district. The area was sealed off by a city gate. Just like Lothering and Orzammar, not just anybody could enter the city.  
“Maker, Your Majesty is that you?” a city guard exclaimed at Alistair as the party approached the gate. Alistair raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“We thought you were dead! Maker be praised, let’s get you in!” another guard said excitedly as he unbolted the gate.

“Hold on, I’m not King Cailan! He died in battle if you don’t recall. I don’t know where you’d get such an idea honestly.” Alistair shouted to them, muttering the last comment to himself.

“Well ya coulda fooled me! Look just like him, you do!” the first guard said, shaking his head. “Well then, who are you? All of you?” He said, now donning an air of suspicion.

“Ser… McAlister. I need to see Master Wade for a fitting for some new armor. I don’t want him to charge me extra for keeping him waiting, now do I?” 

As unlikely as it was that a knight would be traveling with a witch, a dwarf, a mysterious hooded figure, a rogue girl, and a tan skinned elven whore, the guards questioned them no further and admitted them into the district.

“Well that was strange,” Alistair said, half to himself and half to his companions. 

“Hadn’t you ever heard that before?” Astrid asked him curiously. 

“Maybe when we were little and he came to Arl Eamon’s. I vaguely remember someone saying something about the little blonde boys. But as of late, Cailan was so fancy and wore his hair so long… there’s not much comparison between a king and a Warden. Maybe the city guards are holding onto some secret hope that Cailan’s death at Ostagar was just a rumor. Anyway, it got us in here, didn’t it?” Alistair’s thoughts trailed off. 

They looked around wide eyed. This was even larger than Jader. Oghren’s eyes were darting left and right. He was used to living in a large city, but this seemed quite different. The smells were overwhelming. Calandriel agreed. She could smell oil from a weapon stand, Orlesian incenses and perfumes, hot smoked meat dripping on a rotisserie at one cart. They didn’t mix well and left her feeling somewhat sick to her stomach. They followed Alistair to a small winding street and passed a place called The Gnawed Noble Tavern. Turning around the corner, they all stood in front of an unmarked door. 

Alistair dug in his pocket and found a small slip of paper. The door was locked with a complex padlock with three dials along the side. He turned each dial to a certain position until the lock sprang open with a click. As they walked into the warehouse, Alistair addressed them all. “This is the Grey Warden vault where we store our collective weapons, armor, and supplies. Don’t take more than you need, but you’re welcome to use any weapons or armor you see here. I thought we’d come here first before paying the premium rates at Wade’s or that dwarven craft stand.”

Oghren had already found an axe that gleamed. He swung it around to feel its heft and laughed to himself. Calandriel walked around the warehouse, wondering how many of these items’ original owners had died at Ostagar. As she turned to head back towards the front, she kicked something with her foot and nearly tripped. She bent over to see a heavy, kite shaped shield painted with the signature griffon of the Grey Wardens. She picked it up with both hands and approached Alistair.

“Alistair,” the elf spoke quietly. “Is this…?” she looked up at him.

“By the Maker, I think it is. This is Duncan’s shield. I would recognize it anywhere having stared at it for so long following him. Where did you find it?” he asked. 

“Just back there. I don’t know how it ended up here. I thought it would still be at Ostagar.” Calandriel said. 

Alistair held the shield out in front of him admiringly, running a hand across the griffon carved in relief and painted gray and blue. He wore a pained expression, biting his lip.

“I’m going to hold onto it. Thank you so much for finding this, Calandriel. I’m so glad to know it’s safe here. You’re a good friend.” he said, trying to meet her eyes under her hood. Calandriel gave a small smile and her unsettling silver eyes met his. She simply nodded and walked away. 

At the end of a long afternoon in the Market District, they all returned to The Pearl. Calandriel felt she had enough herbs and lyrium to last a few days’ journey, Astrid had had her boots cleaned, and overall, they were feeling better after experiencing all the distractions the Market had to offer. Alistair had been right. Being aboard a ship for a few days had left too much time to think, to feel daunted by the tasks at hand. Now they felt like they were making progress again. 

Alistair was walking towards the staircase where Sanga had said she had some extra rooms free on the second floor when he heard his name.

“Oh Allllllliiistaiiiiirrr????” a deep, rumbling voice called flirtatiously. Before he could register what was happening, Alistair was scooped up by the large arms of Anselmo, Isabela’s first mate, and caught in a giant bear hug. His toes dangled in the air. 

“I knew you’d come back for me!” Ansemlo laughed as he set the Warden down. 

“Umm, yes, always true to my word, that’s me!” Alistair said, thoroughly uncomfortable. He sidestepped away as quickly as possible.

Knowing that they all had to rise early to hit the roads, everyone started to get ready for bed immediately following their dinner. While Zevran received his fair share of advances from the growing number of patrons in the evening, he didn’t leave Calandriel’s side. When Isabela entered the room and began to saunter up to Calandriel and Zevran, Calandriel left. “I’m going to bed.” She said. Zevran followed her up the stairs, not without noticing a derisive look from Isabela.

When they were alone in the room, Zevran shut the door. The room was spacious and lit with many oil lamps and scented candles. It was very romantic. Calandriel just didn’t feel romantic at the moment, knowing Isabela was still within the premises. This did not deter Zevran. 

“My darling,” he said softly. “I found you something today.” 

“Found as in bought and paid for, or found as in you swiped it from somebody?” Calandriel asked. 

“I bought it, I bought it! Here, for you.” He handed her a small bottle. It read _Fleur de Leune et de Lavande._

She held the small round bottle in her hand. The liquid inside was violet in color. It looked lovely. Calandriel was sure it smelled heavenly.

“Zevran, you can’t just give me something nice and make everything better.” Calandriel said flatly. 

Deflated, Zevran shook his head. “I know. You are right. I do not know what else I can do. I am a fool for assuming you could be bought over.”

“It’s nice. I’ll keep it. Zevran, I don’t think there is anything you can do. Just don’t let… that happen again. And give me some space to think about things.” Calandriel paced around, rolling the bottle between her hands. 

“Of course, my dear.” Zevran said, lightly touching Calandriel’s soft white hand. She drew her hood up again. She did not want Zevran to see her smiling at how ridiculous he looked pursing his red lips in all seriousness.

Down the hall, Astrid and Alistair were settling in for the evening as well. Astrid had wiped her newly cleaned boots again and again before she lay down next to Alistair in the bed.

“I can’t believe Calandriel found Duncan’s shield today. I really had been hoping to find something to remember him by. I’m almost tempted to bring it with us, but I’m afraid I’d lose it.” Alistair said, his fingers interlaced as his hands rested on his chest.

“I’m glad too. There are too many at Ostagar who will be forgotten. I need to try to remember them.” Astrid said somberly. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes as the evening grew late. After a while, Astrid could hear some rhythmic grunting and the creak of bed ropes coming from downstairs. After a few more seconds, a woman’s squealing voice penetrated the walls all the way upstairs. Astrid began to giggle. It seemed the entertainments of the evening were just getting going. She leaned on her side and propped her head up, looking at Alistair, who was squeezing his eyes shut.

“So, Calandriel said that sometimes templars would sneak off to brothels when they were off duty. Have you ever gone?” Astrid asked, smiling and trying to sound casual.

Alistair’s eyes opened abruptly. “Me?! First of all, I was never a templar.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Well you were with them for what, nine years? Surely the teenage boys there found ways?”

Alistair shook his head. “Oh they did. But you should have seen the punishments for when they got caught. I, for one, did not want to spend over twenty four hours being forced to stand or kneel in the sanctuary. You should have seen them trembling as the sisters paced around them.”

Astrid was still curious, and not just about brothels. “So you haven’t been with a… lady of the night. And you said you’ve never really been close with any other women?”

Alistair furrowed his brow and gave the golden haired woman a direct look. “If you’re asking if I’ve ever done it before, the answer is no. I’ve never had the _pleasure_.” he smiled and arched a brown eyebrow at her. Astrid returned his smile, suddenly feeling shy. 

“What about you, Lady Cousland?” Alistair asked, now sitting up in bed and leaning against the wall. “Did you ever hit it off with one of your suitors?” he laughed, knowing how Astrid felt about that term. 

“Not at all. They were all boors, either twenty years older than me, or still boys, or in some other way completely repulsive.” Astrid stuck her tongue out in disgust. 

“So am I the first person you’ve been with?” Alistair asked, finding difficulty hiding the eagerness in his voice. 

“Well, no. Not if you want to get technical about it.” Astrid sighed. 

“Oh?” Alistair said softly. 

“It was a couple of years ago. I was seventeen. I’d had a crush on a squire at Highever for years. He and Fergus and I had played together as children. One night we’d had too much to drink and, well, it happened. The whole thing lasted less than five minutes, I imagine.” Astrid explained, still feeling bitter years later.

“I see. What was this squire’s name?” Alistair asked, now avoiding eye contact.

“Ser Gilmore, or Gil.” Astrid said. 

“So how was it with this Gilmore? How does it compare to when we are together?” Alistair blurted. 

“Are you jealous?” Astrid asked, teasing him.

“Maybe!” Alistair said, now sitting bolt upright and drawing his knees up. “Here we’ve been going on for a time now and I come to find out that you’ve done all this before with the fellow you always liked? You must think I’m some novice Chantry boy now!” Astrid could hear him breathing harshly through his nose. 

“For the record, Alistair, I was drunk, it was painful. I tried to stop him at one point and he left me to go to a _brothel_.” Astrid said, her face now reddening as well. 

“But why didn’t you tell me before? Now I’ll only be able to think about you with this, this _Gilmore_ and wondering if I’ll ever compare to your friend and lover.” Alistair scooted off the bed and started to pace around the room. 

“Thanks a lot, Alistair. Thanks for making me feel even worse about a terrible memory I’ve tried to forget.” Astrid said, glaring at him from the bed. Alistair simply let out a “hmmph” in response. 

“Did you ever make any friends out of boredom at the Chantry?” Astrid asked, pleading.

“Yes, but I didn’t sleep with them.” he snapped. 

“He was the only person around Highever my age that wasn’t some bitchy noble’s daughter. Alistair, it’s so different with you. I feel so strongly about you.” Astrid confessed but was still met with brooding silence. She went on, “It feels like something brand new every time we’re together. This is ridiculous! I shouldn’t have brought any of this up. I just want us to be honest with each other.” Astrid spoke in a flurry of words, trying to get through to Alistair. 

“Is he still at Highever?” Alistair asked quietly after a few moments of silence. 

“Damned if I know!” Astrid answered, now shouting. “He probably got killed when Arl Howe’s men attacked my family, but I can try and look into it if you’re so _interested_! I shouldn’t have started this conversation. Goodnight, Alistair.” Astrid picked up her bag and boots and stomped down the hall to see if she could share a room with some of the other companions.


	28. South by Southwest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The companions make their way to the Brecilian Forest from Denerim. The girls must reconcile at least a little with their cohorts.

Calandriel heard a pounding on her door. She and Zevran had been quietly laying down. She still hadn’t felt like talking much to him. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she rose from the bed in case it was something important. Astrid stood before her, red faced and heaving breaths in and out. 

“Can I come in?” she asked bluntly.

“Of course!” Calandriel said, and motioned to a chair. Astrid didn’t sit, though. 

“I’m so mad at him! I can’t believe he could say something like that, when all I was trying to do was -- and then for him to even insinuate that I would--” Astrid exploded as she circled around Calandriel, dramatically waving her hands. 

“Hold on,” Calandriel said softly. “Alistair, right?” she asked.

“Yes, Alistair! That blithering, jealous, conceited jerk!” Astrid cried.

Smiling, Zevran got up from the bed, still in his red dress. “Ahh, poor Astrid. Might I offer some words of---” he began to say.

“NO!” Calandriel and Astrid shouted in unison. 

Astrid and Calandriel spoke quietly for a time and Astrid already felt calmer after talking to her best friend. After a while she realized how exhausted she was. Calandriel extinguished the candle in the room and crawled into bed next to Zevran. Astrid followed and lay next to Calandriel. It was a tight squeeze, but they were too tired to care.

* * *

The next morning, everyone woke early, ready to leave the city. On their way out of The Pearl, they left some extra coins for Sanga for her generosity and scooped Oghren out of the bar where he was sitting face down on a table. There were few people out and about before sunrise, and they quickly found the South gate leading out of the city. Zevran still wore his dress, although it had rumpled a little by now. His hair was still smooth and shiny, though. It took them about a twenty minute walk to reach the South gate. The guards weren’t nearly as strict about those who wished to leave the city, and admitted them through.

On the road, they passed refugees on the outskirts of the city, trying to get in. Many had most likely been forced to give up their farms and livelihoods in the Blight as they had seen in Lothering. Denerim’s Chantry had been swarming with them. The Chantry could only offer shelter and less food every day. When the companions began to see fewer buildings and had not passed any other travelers for some time, Zevran decided to change back into his leathers. He stepped to the side of the road and pulled and tugged at the bouffant skirt and tight laced top. In the midday sun, he had been sweating and found the dress to be sticking.

“Calandriel, my dear,” he called ahead to the elven mage. “Would you be so kind as to come undress me?”

Calandriel, who had been walking alongside Astrid, turned back to see Zevran’s arms stuck above his head, his bare midsection wriggling to shake the skirt. The two women looked back and smiled at the odd sight. Calandriel rolled her eyes, but smiled, and they walked back to him. He was still struggling.

“Calan, is that you? I do mean it quite literally! I am wearing a dress, so you must un-dress me! I shall be chaste, my dear, and put my leathers right back on!” Zevran’s voice was muffled as he swayed side to side trying to inch his muscular arms out. 

With quick, practiced hands, Astrid and Calandriel unlaced the top. 

“I think you can take it from here,” Astrid said, patting Calandriel on the back and scurrying back up to catch up with Oghren. Alistair was a good quarter of a mile behind them all. He’d told the group he wanted to watch for anyone following their trail, but Astrid noticed he hadn’t so much as made eye contact with her all morning. _Suit yourself!_ she thought.

Calandriel now looked at Zevran, who was bare chested in his long crimson skirt. His makeup had all smeared, leaving his face looking like a rough painting from afar. Two dark blotches for his eyes, and a smear of red on his mouth. His hair had fallen loose from the bun and he had lost the hair comb somewhere along the way. Calandriel found this look weirdly alluring.

She stepped closer to him and started to unfasten the skirt. He touched her hand as she unlatched the clasps. Calandriel looked up into his smouldering eyes and felt her heart beat quicken. Then she remembered Isabela had put kohl eyeliner on him on the Siren’s Call and the pain was still too near. 

“There. That should be good.” Calandriel said, dropping the waist of the skirt and brushing her hands together. She returned to Astrid and Oghren without turning to see Zevran change or what he did with the dress. 

The land around them grew more densely wooded and the road narrowed to more of a wide footpath. Calandriel smiled as she looked up at the large canopy of trees. 

“Did you ever see a forest, Oghren?” she asked, looking down at the bewildered dwarf. 

“Is that what this is? With all those columns?” he asked in wonder.

“Yes!” Astrid exclaimed, laughing. “Those are trees.”

“What do you do with ‘em?” he asked blankly.

“Why, admire their beauty, of course!” Calandriel said. “They provide homes for creatures of the forest, shade from the sun, and can be cut to use for building and crafting.”

“When you can’t find any stone, that is,” Oghren commented. 

The Brecilian Forest was large, and being out in the forest gave Calandriel little anxiety. Unlike Denerim or Orzammar, the woodlands brought her back to childhood and felt very welcoming to her. Her heartbreak over Zevran still came and went in spurts. It was hard to avoid thinking about him when he was energetically bounding ahead and circling back to talk to various party members. Calandriel kept it light and fun, having candid talks with Astrid. They ate lunch out of their packs as they walked, wanting to get as far South and West as they could before sunset. If they could reach the Dalish encampment before nightfall, all the better. While Calandriel felt comfortable in the forest, it still had its dangers. Wolves, spiders, or unknowing hunters could be lurking anywhere. As the group of Wardens and their companions grew larger, they were only more conspicuous everywhere they went. There was nothing uniform or orderly about them except for their mere proximity to one another as they hiked along. 

Astrid and Calandriel were exchanging lighthearted stories of Highever and the Circle tower respectively. 

“And so my dog had torn Arl Egbert’s toupee from off of his head and was running about the castle with it. We never did quite track it down until months later when Nan found it in the pantry. She screeched, thinking it was a giant rat. I’d been in the kitchen and took it from her and ran out before she could scold me. Fergus and I had so much fun throwing that ratty old thing around!” Astrid’s stomach hurt from laughing so hard. Calandriel seemed to have enjoyed the tale as well. While the friends were giggling, they heard the metal clinking of boots approaching steadily from behind. They turned around to see Alistair had caught up to them. 

“The path should trail to the West soon. We should try to cover as much ground as we can before the sun sets. We might be able to reach the encampment sometime this evening if we keep a good pace.” he said as matter of factly as possible. 

“I hope the Dalish will be somewhat welcoming and understanding of our situation,” Calandriel said in reply. They kept walking in silence for a few paces. Astrid looked over and saw Calandriel wrinkling her nose. The elf brought her long, purple sleeve to her nose and itched it for some time. 

“Astrid,” Alistair said, suddenly breaking the silence among the three Wardens. “Can I talk to you alone for a moment?” 

Astrid briefly glanced at him and shook her head. “Anything you want to say to me can be said in front of Calandriel,” the young woman said breezily. 

Calandriel, still clutching her sleeve to her nose took a deep breath and quickly said, “No, that’s alright! I’ll leave you two. I just will run ahead and… catch a breath of air!” and without a further word, Calandriel skipped ahead in a swish of purple robes. 

Now that Astrid thought of it, there was a strange funk in the air. Astrid wondered if it was foliage that was decomposing in the heat, or some far off dead animal carcass. Alistair now joined Astrid and walked in step with her. Astrid caught another whiff of the rotting smell. 

“Astrid,” he began again earnestly. “I want to talk to you about what happened last night.”

“Alistair.” Astrid cut in.

He waved his gloved hands in front of him. “Please, just hear me out, I want to say--”

“Alistair!” Astrid said, even louder, sounding annoyed. 

“I was--” Alistair began to explain when Astrid yanked on his hand and pulled him to face her. “What?!” he said, looking at her in bewilderment. 

“Alistair,” Astrid said, quietly now. “What in the Maker’s name is that _smell_?” she asked, now wrinkling her nose herself. 

“I don’t know!” he said, irritated at her for changing the subject. “There must be a skunk nearby. Although, come to think of it, it smells a little like the alleys of Denerim.” He gave the air a perfunctory sniff. “Or the swill in the bottom of the Siren’s Call.”

Astrid now made a small circuit around the warrior, snuffling the air like a Mabari hound. 

“Alistair, I think it’s you.” she said flatly. 

“Oh I see, still mad at me, are you?! I was _trying_ to talk to you” he glared at her, frowning. Without a word, Astrid removed the traveling pack from his back and stood in front of him, handing the bag over. “It’s coming from in there.” she said. 

Alistair gave her an exasperated look, but he opened it up just to oblige her. He removed a shirt, which he had washed at The Pearl, some injury kits, a few vials of lyrium, a whetstone, an amorphous cake of lye soap, and the treaties. All of these he set on the ground. He swept his hand around the bottom of the sack and stopped, finding another object. He produced from the bag a round object that was covered in a bright coat of green fuzz. 

“What _is_ that!?” Astrid whispered, flabbergasted. 

“Oh my. This is the wheel of soft cheese I bought outside of Orzammar.” He drew the gelatinous wheel to his nose and then dropped it on the ground, gagging. “That is thoroughly disgusting. It must have slid to the bottom.”

Astrid was holding a hand up to her mouth, silently trembling with suppressed laughter. “Anything else in there?” she asked.

“No that’s it. Ugh.” At this, he picked the moldy cheese up off of the dirt path and flung it into the underbrush of the woods. He turned back to Astrid, wiping his hands on the sides of his pants. He donned a self-deprecating smile and started to join her in laughter. 

“So, what did you want to tell me?” Astrid asked, feigning seriousness. 

“I feel sillier than ever now.” Alistair said. He took a deep breath and gave her a direct look again. “Astrid, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for getting so upset last night. It’s just, absolutely against reason for me to feel so jealous. We didn’t even know each other back then!”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place,” Astrid sighed, crossing her arms. “Not if you weren’t ready to talk about it.”

“Astrid, I want to know about you. And I think if we continue this, whatever this is, we should know about each other’s pasts.” Alistair said. “I’m willing to go on with you, whatever your experiences, if you’re willing to tolerate me and mine… or my lack thereof.” His brown eyes grew wide, hopeful.

Astrid broke into a beaming smile. “I suppose I can tolerate you, my darling cheese wheel!” she squeezed his arm on these last two words and laughed again. The sunlight glowed through the gaps in the canopy above, sprinkling the companions with flecks of glimmering light. It was getting nearer and nearer to sunset.

“So uhhhhh… Any chance that we might stop and rest soon?” Oghren said after a while. The dwarf was walking with a stiff gait. Although he would never admit it verbally, it was clear the long journey was hard on his short legs. 

“Of course,” Alistair said. “I was just thinking the same thing.” He called out to Calandriel, who had taken the lead of their group in her eagerness to reach the elves. 

She reluctantly turned back. “What is it?” she shouted over her shoulder. 

“I think we should stop for the night. You know the forests better than most of us, except for Morrigan. How does this look?” Alistair called. 

The elf finally halted and glanced around distractedly. She let out a sigh and then nodded. “Yes, yes this should be safe.” It was clear that she did not wish to stop, but would have rather spent the entire night marching if it brought her closer to her people. “I’ll find us some firewood.”

Astrid offered to help but Calandriel refused. The closer they got to the Dalish encampment, the more wrapped up in her thoughts the elf had become. She spent a long time searching the underbrush, planning what she would say when they reached their destination, imagining how they might receive her. It had been eight years since she’d been torn away from her people. Would they look at her like a lost cause city elf or welcome her as one of their own? She was excited and yet worried at the same time.

“I do hope Calan is alright,” Astrid said after they had finished setting up their tents. She glanced around the woods but could neither see nor hear a sign of her companion. “She’s been gone a long time.”

“She’s fine,” Morrigan said, rolling her eyes. 

Astrid gave her a hard look.

“Well, I mean, she’s probably just off… being _elfy_! Or doing whatever it is those people do in the woods,” Morrigan said.

Astrid had to admit that the forest here seemed a lot different than others they had been through on their journey. It looked much the same, though there was a different, indescribable feel to it, like there was magic in the air. Perhaps the Veil was thin in these parts, though she didn’t feel particularly scared or uncomfortable. In fact, it had the opposite effect. She felt very calm.

“Tell me, my dear Morrigan, what is it that you think we _do_ in the woods?” Zevran said suggestively. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Morrigan said. “Keep us all awake with your incessant moaning every night?” 

Zevran actually looked slightly hurt at the mage’s cutting remarks. “I _wish_ that is what I were doing,” he said very quietly. 

A moment later, Calandriel re-emerged with a bundle of sticks. After setting up a fire, they ate a light dinner before retiring to their tents, all of them feeling suddenly overcome with exhaustion. Whether it was from another long day of walking or the magical vibe of the forest, they could not tell. Astrid and Alistair continued to share a tent, though Calandriel decided to stay up on first watch while Zevran crawled into their own. It was a few more hours before she felt herself yawning and joined him. She was too overcome with comfortable tiredness to bother rousing someone else to take the next watch.


	29. The Brecilian Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group finally makes it to the Brecilian Forest where they hope to gain the aid of the Elves. They are introduced to a strange and alluring individual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so excited to get to this point! The Elves are my favorite and I find them the most easy to write about. I have LOTS of notes about this section:
> 
> For one, I would like to warn the reader that I completely changed the Dalish clan (No Zathrian) and storyline from the game. I just really didn't feel like repeating the whole werewolf thing. Plus, I knew I wanted to bring in a CERTAIN CHARACTER at this time and I didn't want it to be totally arbitrary.
> 
> On another note, I read on the DA Wiki that even the Dalish don't speak Elvish as their main language; that it's only the Keepers and Firsts that really know it. I have changed this as well. I imagine the Dalish speak Elvish and only a small few can understand the common tongue. I love languages so the more I can use them in my writing, the better!
> 
> Also, I think this may be the only chapter that was written exclusively by one of us (ladyoflaurelindorenan) and is not a collaboration. I apologize in advance to all the Alistrid fans because I kind of took over in this chapter. lavenderbee understands.

Early the next morning, Astrid felt herself being prodded in the back through the canvas of her tent. “Alistair, wake up!” she whispered, shaking him. She could hear voices. “ _Wake up!_ ” 

Alistair slowly came to. “What’s happening?” Their tent shook with another prodding from the other side. 

“Come out of your tents! _Unarmed._ ” said a strangely accented voice. 

_We’ve been ambushed_ , Astrid thought as she quickly pulled herself together. She instinctively reached for her daggers but decided against it. By the sound of things, there were many people outside. She pulled on her boots and stepped out into the harsh morning sunlight along with Alistair. They blinked at the brightness of the light, their eyes taking time to focus. 

“We have you surrounded,” came the same voice as before. 

Astrid’s eyes finally adjusted and she saw standing before her an elf. A Dalish elf by the telltale _vallaslin_ that marked his face. She looked around and could see many more of them, dressed in strange green and gold ensembles, many of them wielding bows. Aimed at their heads, she did not fail to notice. Behind her, someone rifled through their tent and snatched up their weapons. 

She could hear the rustling and voices of her companions coming from the other tents now. Oghren and Morrigan were forced out respectively followed by Zevran in nothing but his leather skirt. Calandriel grabbed the nearest garment she could find and pulled on the silken white dress she had received from King Harrowmont. Within seconds of emerging, they were flanked by Dalish scouts. 

“What are you doing in our forest?” the man questioned. 

Calandriel took a step forward and the guard behind her pulled back tighter on his bow. She was undeterred and spoke, “ _Andaran atish’an._ ”

This gave their captor pause. He turned to face her, exchanging a meaningful look with the bowman, who backed down slightly. The man began to speak to Calandriel in Elvish, and she responded passionately. It had been years since she had been able to have a conversation with someone in her native language. The Circle tower did not have a large population of elves and nearly all of them had been born in the city where the elven tongue was mostly forgotten. The rest of the companions watched in tense silence, completely unaware of what was being said. Finally, the man gave a signal and the scouts around them lowered their weapons. 

“Your friend has informed me you mean us no harm.” the man said, gazing around at the various party members. “And that you wish to meet with our Keeper. I agree that this is wise. Though you will be coming to him as our captives until he has deemed you are not a threat.”

The scouts continued to seize their weapons and goods and corralled the companions together so that they were flanked on all sides. The speaker headed the group and began to walk.

Calandriel continued to speak with the man in Elvish as they marched along. Despite the fact that they were being held prisoner, the scout leader did not seem put off by her speech and was courteous enough to respond to her words. 

“What are they saying?” Morrigan whispered to Zevran.

“How should I know?” he said, shrugging. “I only know Antivan and this bastard language you call the common tongue!”

They continued in this way for some time, though it was not long before they began to hear more voices and could see signs of inhabitants in the forest. It seemed they had not been far off at all from the Dalish encampment when they’d decided to sleep for the night. That explained the strange magical energy in the air. The clan had probably set up runes, wards, and alarms to alert them of intruders. Their captor turned to them and said something in Elvish once again before departing. The only word that most of them could understand was _shemlens_.

“Calandriel, what’s going on?” Astrid asked in a hushed voice. “What did he say?”

“He’s actually surprisingly pleasant!” Calandriel said, smiling. 

Oghren snorted loudly.

“He _is_ ,” Calandriel insisted. “Look, we’re in no danger. The Dalish are just naturally distrustful of outsiders. We can’t afford to welcome everyone who stumbles into our midst. It’s how the elves lost Arlathan and everything else for that matter. Oh, don’t tell me you don’t _know_!” she added exasperatedly at their blank stares. “The elves were once the most mighty and numerous of all peoples. We were immortal, wise, and fair. We lived in crystal tree palaces, surrounded by art and music and vast libraries… Until the humans appeared. They brought with them disease and age. That’s why we call you all _shemlen_ , it means ‘quickling.’” She spoke as if she had lived all those thousands of years ago, completely oblivious to the circle of guards around them, who did not seem to understand what they were saying. “After that, the elven society began to crumble and well, we all know how that turned out,” she said bitterly. 

“Halamshiral,” Alistair said. He’d had to study the Exalted Marches in his time training to become a templar. Everyone who’d set foot in a Chantry had been told the story of the downfall of the elves, though the details of the story and how it began were heavily disputed. 

Presently, the scout leader returned. He beckoned them to follow and the group wound their way through the heart of the Dalish camp, still flanked by bowmen on all sides. Astrid watched her friend’s expression as they passed by dozens of _aravels_ , the covered wagons the Dalish lived and traveled in. Calandriel could not contain her excitement. The wagons were covered with sail-like awnings, painted in vibrant colors with runes or stylized depictions of events gone by. All around them, elves busied themselves at cook fires or with daily chores, though they looked up and stared at the strange party of prisoners with suspicion in their large eyes. On one side of the camp, they were amazed to see halla, the majestic pure white elk-like creatures that were associated with the elves. They were notoriously shy animals, rarely seen by human eyes, which was for the better. Humans often hunted the noble beasts for their prized curving antlers, but to the Dalish, they were sacred companions. At last, they reached a large, rounded structure; the only actual building from what they could see. It was made of white birch branches and covered with a roof of green moss. Their captor signaled to the guards to back off and ushered the travelers inside. “Just let me do the talking,” Calandriel said as they entered the edifice. 

The Keeper sat on a carved wooden bench within. He leaned heavily on a staff, which was topped with a large, jagged agate. His pale blonde hair was long and partially tied back in ornate braids, and across his face in brown ink that contrasted sharply with his icy blue eyes was the _vallaslin_ of June, the god of crafts. He stood as they entered, his robes swaying. They were the same green and gold as the scouts wore, though they were embellished with sumptuous scrolling designs and were quite beautiful. He looked like something out of legend, an ancient elven lord with a dignified face. “ _Aneth ara, da’len._ ” he said, inclining his head in a slight bow. 

Calandriel in turn bowed back, and Alistair and Astrid followed suit. Zevran merely nodded his head, while Oghren and Morrigan seemed to think it a petty custom and shifted awkwardly behind the Wardens. 

The Keeper did not seem to notice, though. “Two noble humans, a woman of the wilds, a dwarf, and two elves. Such strange company,” he said, looking them over with his piercing gaze. “I am told you speak the elven tongue, _da’len_. Tell me, how did you come by this skill?”

Calandriel began speaking Elvish again, the words coming easily to her after all these years. She had read every book written in the language at the Circle library, no matter how mundane the subject matter, just so that she wouldn’t forget. 

When she had finished speaking, the Keeper responded so that they all could understand. “I am impressed. But your parents departed this clan not six moons ago.”

Calandriel looked crestfallen. “But they _were_ here?”

The Keeper paced about the circular room, stopped and turned to her with a smile. “Yes,” he said at length. “They were an asset to this community, but they wished to move on. They spoke often of their daughter, the one who went to the Circle. They said she possessed magical talent beyond measure, that she was slated to become First to the Keeper of their clan. It is a shame you were taken away from us. The elves need not lose any more of their people to the _shemlens_.”

Calandriel looked relieved to know that her parents were still alive, though she was clearly disappointed. She looked at her companions, who stood behind her silently, feeling strange in the presence of this imperious elven lord. She remembered the task at hand. “We came here for another, more important reason actually,” she began. “My companions, Astrid and Alistair, and myself are Grey Wardens.” Alistair quickly began to rummage in his pack and pulled out the treaty that requested the help of the Dalish and handed it to her. She held it aloft for the Keeper to take. “We are seeking aid in ending the Blight.”

The Keeper read the paper over and continued to slowly pace around the room, his robes dragging on the floor behind him. “I am sorry, _da’len_ ,” he said after some time. “Even if I wished to offer help to one of our children, I cannot.” He paused and leaned on his staff. “We are plagued by spirits and demons. It matters not where we go. The clan moves, and the devils find us.” He turned to face them once again. “But if you wish to stay with us a while, you are most welcome. We do not often take in strangers, though for your father, I will make an exception.”

Alistair opened his mouth to argue, clearly irritated at the elven man’s apathy to their cause, but Calandriel shook her head at him. It was no use getting into a fight with the Keeper; he would only turn them away. The elves were slow and deliberate when it came to taking action, and she knew there would be time to try the Keeper again. 

“Come now,” said the Keeper. There is someone I would like you all to meet. Samahl!” he called at the doorway and the scout leader reappeared at the sound of his name. “Take our guests to meet with the Wolf.”

Samahl led them out into the encampment. This time, they were not surrounded by guardsmen and could walk more freely. 

“I don’t like the sound of this at all,” Alistair said under his breath as they began to make their way through the camp once again.

“Calan, is that some kind of honorary title? Like a rank?” Astrid asked.

“I don’t know _what_ that means,” the elven woman said, just as confused as they were. 

They meandered through the camp, astonished at the sheer immensity of it all. This had to have been one of the most populated Dalish camps in all of Ferelden, if not Thedas. Hundreds of _aravels_ were parked all around, each of them beautifully hand-painted. A group of women stood fidgeting with rich textiles that hung on a line, freshly dyed, and in the distance they could hear singing. The whole place smelled of earth and incense, and to Calandriel, it smelled like home. Eventually, the wagons became less numerous until there were none at all and the trees grew closer together. The sounds of voices died down so quickly, they wondered if perhaps the elves had cast a spell around the place to mask the noise. The companions grew increasingly wary. 

“Are you sure this isn’t a trick?” Oghren grunted. “I think ‘wolf’ must be some kind of code.”

“I have heard tales of elves keeping wolves as companions…” Morrigan said. 

“Fen’Harel take you both! Since when do you believe in fairy stories? ...Besides, I personally wouldn’t mind having a wolf for a companion...” Calandriel said. She asked Samahl something in Elvish as they began to ascend up a steep hill. The hill gradually became quite sheer and Calandriel longed for her staff so that she might have something to lean on. 

“We are almost there,” said their guide. After climbing for a few minutes, they emerged at the top of the incline and found themselves in a clearing. They had not realized it from below, but this part of the forest was dotted with small rocky cliff formations upon which grew moss and lichens. A waterfall trickled down a groove in the stone, having worn it away from many centuries of water flow. Against the wall of rock sat a simple canvas tent and the remnants of a fire, though no one was present. 

“Perhaps he has gone hunting,” said Samahl, gazing around. The travelers looked around too. From up here, they could see bits and pieces of the camp through the tops of the trees. 

“Perfect timing, Samahl. I have just returned.” 

The companions turned in the direction of the voice, which was low and very unexpected. Out of the trees stepped the strangest looking elf that any of them had ever seen. He was dressed in fitted black leather accented by iridescent feathers on either shoulder. He wore a chest plate, wrist bracers, and ornate gauntlets, and slung across his back was a heavy greatsword. His shaggy hair was white as snow, like Calandriel’s, though his skin was what was most striking. White, curving lines delicately traced his neck, chin, and arms and looked almost painted on. They were not tattoos, but something different entirely. 

[ ](http://imgur.com/o6oNJhf)

“This is the one we call the Wolf,” said Samahl, tilting his head at the elf in acknowledgment. 

The man scanned them all one by one, his brilliantly green eyes suspicious. He looked at Calandriel last, his eyes lingering on her longer than the rest of them. His full lips parted slightly as she met his gaze and then he looked away again. 

“I’m Alistair,” said the knight, cutting through the uncomfortable silence. He went around and introduced the rest of them. “We’ll be staying with the camp for a little while. Uh, the Keeper wanted us to meet you.”

“My name is Fenris,” said the strange elf, coming closer so that they were all crowded around the now-empty firepit. 

“Why do they call you the Wolf?” Oghren blurted out. “You just look like another one o’ them pointy-eared buggers to me!”

“Fenris means ‘little wolf’ in Elvish, Oghren,” Calandriel said. 

“Ah, so you speak the elven tongue?” Fenris said offhandedly. He sat down on a stump beside the firepit and continued to speak without looking at any of them. “I suppose that won a favor with the Keeper. But you have no _vallaslin_ , and you are dressed in dwarvish attire. What manner of elf are you?” His eyes flicked up at Calandriel briefly, but he looked away again. The bright green of his irises stood out against the black kohl around his eyes and the tanness of his skin. Calandriel found his gaze to be unsettling. 

Zevran, not liking the man’s tone, cut in before she could elicit a response. “And who are you that you are dressed like a fancy Tevinter warrior?”

Fenris glared at Zevran and stood once again, striding closer to the rogue. “If you must know, Antivan, I come from the Imperium.”

“But you’re an elf,” Alistair said without thinking. 

“Yes, yes. And all elves in Tevinter are slaves. It’s legal there after all,” Fenris said with irritation. 

“Does that mean…?” Calandriel asked hesitantly. 

Fenris turned to her, his gaze intense. “That I was once a slave?” He looked away again, for some reason unable to maintain eye contact with her. “Yes. For most of my life, in fact. I was a slave to the magisters only until about a year ago.”

“Fenris has offered us his services in exchange for staying with us,” Samahl cut in, his voice calm. 

“What kind of _services_?” Zevran asked, not being able to help himself.

“He has been helping us fend off the spirits,” said the scout leader. “Fenris’s _unique talents_ seem to take care of the problem better than we are able to on our own.”

“Yes, the markings on my skin are a blessing and a curse,” Fenris said bitterly. “For all that mages have done to me, at least I make a good _weapon_ …” He practically spat the last word in disgust.

“Mages did that to you?” Calandriel asked, her voice sad.

“Indeed,” Fenris responded. “Those who would give anything to gain more power, regardless of who it hurts.” He paced about distractedly as he spoke.

“Not all mages are _blood_ mages,” Morrigan said haughtily. 

“That’s because they haven’t been presented with the right opportunity,” he said, rounding on her. “If a demon offered you your heart’s desire, you could not refuse. Maybe at first, but all mages eventually succumb to such evil if left to their own devices.” He glared at Morrigan, clearly aware of what she was, despite the fact that her staff was still in possession of the guardsmen. 

Samahl, who seemed completely unaware of the tension in the air, suddenly announced his need to depart. “If you will all forgive me, I must get back to my duties. Please feel free to return to camp at your leisure.” He bowed and made his way back down into the trees, disappearing in seconds. 

Fenris watched him go out of his periphery and then spoke again, his tone lighter now. “But tell me, who are you that you have sought out the Dalish? You must be very important to have not been turned away.”

“We are Grey Wardens,” said Astrid proudly.

“That _is_ important,” Fenris said. 

Astrid explained the treaties, the dwarven help that they had secured from their long travels in Orzammar, and their hope that the elves could be convinced to join their effort. 

“But the damned Keeper just blew us off! Like we were some traveling merchants asking him to invest in a scam!” Alistair said, gesturing frustratedly. 

“For all anyone knows, this _is_ a scam,” Fenris said conspiratorially. Alistair made to respond, but the elf cut him off with a wave of his gauntleted hand. “I believe you. But the Dalish will take some convincing. They are naturally untrusting of outsiders. It’s a wonder they didn’t kill you all immediately.”

“Calandriel is Dalish,” Astrid explained, indicating the elven woman. “Or… was.”

“Yes,” Calandriel said, giving her friend a meaningful look. She noted the way Fenris arched a dark slanted eyebrow at the word _was_. “That is why I can speak the Elvish language and why the Keeper let us stay. I’m hoping that, given more time, I will be able to use my words to gain his favor.”

“Actions speak louder than words,” Fenris said bluntly. “If you’re going to get anywhere with the Dalish, you’ll have to prove you’re worth the effort.”

“Is that what you had to do?” Astrid asked. 

“I was… traveling,” Fenris replied slowly. “And I came upon two elves being attacked by spirits. Strange, glowing wisps of smoke, but horrors to behold. The elves they preyed upon were screaming with madness. I used my… abilities… to destroy them. The elves were grateful and brought me back to their clan, where I have stayed ever since. That was no more than a month ago. I’ve stayed on as something of a protector, but the spirits keep coming.”

“Perhaps we can help with that,” Calandriel said, looking around at her companions. 

Fenris looked skeptical. 

“Ah, I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!” Oghren grunted. 

“That is because you have no connection to the Fade, dwarf.” Fenris said harshly. “You have not seen terrors like these.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, ya fancy fruitcake! What are we doin’ talkin’ to this guy still anyway?” Oghren ranted. “I’m hungry.”

Fenris turned away from them and busied himself with something. “Samahl mentioned a feast tonight.” He turned back and his eyes connected with Calandriel. “I imagine the Keeper will want you all there.”

Calandriel looked away, his gaze penetrating. 

“Excellent!” Zevran said jovially. “There is nothing better than a feast to loosen tongues and gain influence. Just give me a bottle of wine and an hour with the Keeper, and he’ll have dropped his guard _and_ his pants!”

Fenris made a disgusted face.

“Don’t give me that look, my attractive new friend. I could say the same about you!” Zevran laughed, looking Fenris up and down. 

Fenris simply glared as the group turned away and left his camp. As they descended the rocky hill that led them back into the trees, they discussed all that they had just learned. “I can speak to the Keeper tonight,” Calandriel said. “We should probably find out more about these spirits so we can eradicate them. Maybe talk to some of the people who have been attacked.”

“Can’t ya just wave yer magic stick around and make ‘em go _pouf_?” Oghren groaned. 

“There are so many different kinds of spirits, Oghren,” Calandriel said patiently. “Spirits of desire, compassion, envy, justice… They have to be dealt with according to their different purposes. Then there are demons… abominations… _possessions_.”

“Sounds like a bunch of fairy shit to me,” said the dwarf. 

“I’ve got news for you, Oghren,” said Calandriel lightly. “Fairies don’t shit.”

“We should probably find out _why_ the spirits have been following the clan too,” Astrid said. “I thought spirits only lingered in certain places where the Veil was thin. But the Keeper said they’ve been followed no matter where they go.” 

“Yes, it’s very strange…” Calandriel said, narrowing her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scout leader Samahl totally ended up being very much like Haldir from the Lord of the Rings (though I imagine Samahl with dark hair). Likewise, I had Thranduil in mind for the Keeper, but with more braids.


	30. Dreams & Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group learns more about what's been plaguing the Dalish while attending a feast. Calandriel's nightmares are more than just dreams and may be the key to helping their elvish hosts.

The companions returned to camp, where the many eyes of the Dalish stared daggers at them no matter where they went. Sometimes, especially in the case of children, there were gazes of curiosity, not hostility, but mostly the overall vibe of the place was one of mistrust. After a time of exploring their new surroundings, they were met with one of the Keeper’s vanguard, a woman named Val. She showed them to the vacant _aravels_ that would be theirs for the duration of their stay.

“They’re not terribly large, but they certainly beat staying in a tent!” Alistair remarked as he peered inside the _aravel_ that would be his and Astrid’s to share. It had a large bed built into one side, a bench built into the other, and a surprising amount of bare space in between. The adjustable ceiling was high enough that they could comfortably stand inside, though it was not wide enough for one to walk more than a few paces. 

Val smiled proudly at the astonished looks on their faces and proceeded to speak in elvish before departing.

Calandriel quickly translated: “The Keeper wishes to extend to you--us--a formal invitation to the feast tonight, as his guests of honor.”

“I wish these rabbits would quit _talkin’_ about food and would start servin’ it up instead!” Oghren boomed. “I’m starving!” 

“Perhaps you should think about showering before you think about eating, my smelly friend.” said Zevran. “Else I think your invitation will be revoked…”

Oghren gave the elf a look, rose his arm and sniffed. “ _Ugh._ ” He shuddered at the stench. “I hate to admit it, but the ass bandit’s right. Ah, sod it…” Oghren continued to grunt and grumble to himself as he walked away, seeking a place to bathe.

The rest of the companions broke off into their own little worlds as the day slipped by. Calandriel told Astrid all about Dalish customs, table manners, and history, and the rogue woman listened while she re-braided her golden hair, interjecting here and there with questions. Alistair and Zevran occupied themselves with uncomfortable conversation while Morrigan ventured off on her own, as usual. When Oghren returned and told them of the nearby stream, they took turns washing in preparation for the night’s festivities.

Finally, at sunset, they were summoned by Val, who led them back to the Keeper’s hut. The area around it had been transformed completely from what it had looked like at their arrival that morning. At least a dozen tables had been set up and covered with all manner of delicious dishes. There was pheasant pie, roasted turkey, steamed vegetables gleaming with butter, and platters of forest berries surrounded by nuts, seeds, and a variety of cheeses.

Astrid giggled at the sight of Alistair’s eyes, which had become as round as tea saucers at the sight of a particularly gargantuan wheel of cheese nestled in the center of the head table. Candles burned on every surface, but a grand bonfire in the center of the feast area gave off the most light as the last bit of sunlight faded away. 

Samahl met them as they approached. “I am glad to see you all here. It is rumored that you spent some time with the Dwarves, but now you will see _Elven_ hospitality, which is far superior.”  
“I’m right here!” Oghren pointed out, but Samahl pretended not to notice. He showed them to their seats at the head table. Calandriel scanned the number of plates and counted nine. _One for the Keeper, one for the First… Six for us… The last must be the Tevinter._ Though as she looked around at the rest of the faces now gathering for the feast, she could not see any sign of the mysteriously marked elf. As she seated herself, she felt strangely disappointed. She glanced over at Zevran, and felt a pang of guilt in the pit of her stomach, though he did not seem aware of it. 

Soon, the guests were settled and the Keeper strode out from his birchwood hut, looking stupendous in a striped crimson and gold velvet robe that far surpassed the one he had worn that morning. His fingers glittered with ruby gems and around his head he now wore a crown of amber-colored flowers to signify the impending Autumn. The crowd hushed at his arrival, though they did not stand. The position of the Keeper commanded respect, though it was not a role akin to a king. He addressed the many faces, speaking the lilting language of their kind, then gestured to the companions seated at the head table. An applause of polite claps erupted from the elves and the Keeper and his apprentice finally seated themselves.

“I take it that was good?” Alistair leaned across Zevran, whispering to Calandriel. 

“Yes. He has told the whole camp that we are Grey Wardens, and as such, we are to be respected. He also told them of our promise to help with the spirits,” the elven woman explained.  
With that, the feast got under way. There were no servants, but instead, everyone helped each other to serve the food. Astrid thought it looked out of character to see the Keeper pouring his own wine, but she had to remind herself that he wasn’t a noble lord in the usual Fereldan sense. His fabulous wardrobe and dignified presence would have suggested otherwise, though. 

When their hosts had finished serving themselves, the companions followed suit. Calandriel grabbed a roll of sweet bread coated in honey and nuts, and took a bite. She couldn’t remember the last time she had tasted something so good, though her stomach felt oddly nervous at the moment. She took up a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. Tasting it, she felt the knot in her stomach relax slightly. It tasted of sweet raspberries and tart cranberries and was a delicate pink rose color, which she thought was rather pretty. She smiled slightly, looking down the length of the table at the many friends she had acquired over the last few weeks and out at the crowd of elves chatting merrily over their dinners. She had dreamed about this moment, of being reunited with her people for so many years. Why then did she feel so strange?

She took another drink of the berry wine and nearly spat it out when she heard a familiar gravelly voice behind her. 

“My apologies for the late arrival,” Fenris said to the Keeper, seating himself in between their host and Calandriel. He too had dressed differently for the occasion. He no longer wore armor, but instead he sported a long-sleeved black velvet jacket with a high collar, and his green eyes were ringed with dark kohl.

“Nonsense, Fenris,” the Keeper said jovially, waving a bejeweled hand absently. “You have done so much for this clan, if anything, _I_ should be the one apologizing to _you!_ Here, have some _Aggregio_. I know how much you love it!” With that, the Keeper passed him a bottle, which Fenris accepted. “Now then, do you all have full glasses?” The elven lord glanced up and down the table. “A toast to our new friends. May our arrangements be successful!” 

They each raised their glasses, and clinked. Calandriel found herself draining the first cup in a subconscious effort to suppress her nerves. When she glanced to her right, she saw that Fenris had polished off his as well and was already pouring himself a second glass. When he realized she was watching him, he gestured with the bottle as if to ask her if she wanted to partake. With a nod, he refilled Calandriel’s glass too. 

Despite feeling ravenous earlier, Calandriel now found that she had little appetite. 

“Are these not your favorite, my sweetness?” Zevran whispered into Calandriel’s pointed ear, holding a plump berry enticingly before her face. His whisper startled Calandriel and she immediately looked to her right at the Tevinter elf. He had been observing the couple and wearing a derisive smirk. He then leaned over to say something to the Keeper. 

“Not now,” Calandriel said, patiently pushing Zevran’s hand and the berry away. She turned to the Antivan and gave him as convincing a smile as she could. “We should be speaking with the locals to try and find out more about what’s happening. Sort of like we did in Orzammar.” Calandriel took another drink of the red wine from her goblet.

“Shall we eavesdrop, then, my love?” Zevran licked his lips and leaned in closer to Calandriel. They had kissed at Tapster’s, most passionately while taking in their surroundings. Calandriel wished no such thing at a welcome feast. What would the Dalish think of her?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Calandriel urged. “Excuse me, Zevran.” And with that, Calandriel rose from her seat and walked behind Zevran towards the end of the long table. She passed Alistair and Astrid, both of whom wore great smiles on their faces after trying some of the Dalish soft goat cheese. Calandriel walked around the front of the table to address the Keeper.

“Keeper, you honor us greatly by seating us at your table.” Calandriel said, bowing with a swish of her white silken dress. 

“I am assuming your party deserves honor. If you are truly able to help us, then my assumption shall be correct.” the Keeper said in respectful tones. He took a long drink of wine afterward.  
“Would it be possible for me to inquire after some of the families and clan members here to find out more about the spirits?” Calandriel asked the Keeper. She glanced briefly at Fenris, who was still looking at her in the same half amused, half derisive way he had been earlier. 

“Of course,” the Keeper said, straightening up in his chair. He extended a hand out toward the clan members in invitation. “Some may not speak to you, but you are welcome to circulate and mingle. Do you have much experience with spirits, demons, or magic?” 

Calandriel noticed that at the word “magic,” Fenris leaned closer to look at her, his goblet held up masking his nose and mouth. 

She returned the Tevinter’s gaze in challenge. “Just a layman’s knowledge, I’m afraid,” Calandriel said. For some reason, she had difficulty disclosing her full identity just yet. “But I am more than willing to make up for it in any way. Thank you, Keeper.” Calandriel bowed again with a swishing of her silky white dress, and turned to make her way toward the rest of the feast guests.

Calandriel’s gaze swept back and forth across the expanse of the many long tables. It felt like her first night in the great hall having dinner at the Circle Tower when she was twelve. Where should she sit? Everyone was looking at her and whispering. She strode toward a kind-faced young mother with her two children. As Calandriel approached, the mother pulled her infant close and clutched her toddler’s hand and walked to another table. Hurt, but determined not to give up so soon, Calandriel turned around and met the eyes of two young Dalish men.  
“You can sit by us, lady!” one called out, taking a great drink from his goblet. They looked to be around her age, if not a little younger. She gave a small smile and walked towards them. She looked quickly at the head table to see if Zevran noticed, but he was now talking with Alistair and Astrid with one arm companionably around Alistair and the other dramatically gesturing with a heel of bread.

Calandriel gathered her skirts and sat next to the young men. One had long, red hair pulled into a simple club at the nape of his neck. He had large blue eyes and wore the animal hide shirt and leggings of a hunter. The other elf wore his shaggy black hair loose and gave her his most charming smile. Calandriel had to try not to laugh at their boyish flirtations. 

“Hello, friends,” she said in elven. 

“Hello, lady,” the black haired youth said.

“M’lady,” the redhead said softly. 

“I am Calandriel. What are you names?” Calandriel asked. 

“I’m Cirian,” the redhead said. “That’s Trevar.” he nodded at his companion.

“I’m pleased to meet you two. This is my first time in an encampment since I was a girl.” Calandriel began, hoping to start off with some small talk.

“You a city elf, then?” Cirian asked, cocking a red eyebrow at her.

“Well, no. I mean, yes. I’ve been living near Lake Calenhad for a time.” Calandriel said, trying to sound casual. Had she already messed this up?

Trevar cleared his throat. “Once in a while we get a ragged band of city folk who managed to escape the alienage. Wouldn’t know Arlathan from the Arl of Redcliffe.” Trevar rolled his eyes in exasperation. 

“I hope I don’t fall into that category,” Calandriel said, nervously laughing. “So have you two had any experience with the spirits that the Keeper has been dealing with? Any bad dreams or suspicious activity happening?” 

“Well, something strange in fact did happen when I was out last week on a hunt,” Cirian began. He eagerly leaned in closer. Trevar looked around, as though he already knew the impending tale. 

“Do go on,” Calandriel encouraged, ignoring Trevar’s bored expression.

Cirian took a deep breath. “Well, as I said, I was out on a hunt. Maybe for ten days or so. I was with a small group, just three of us, myself, an elf named Trista, and another younger elf named Benniam. It was toward the end of the trip, we had had good luck hunting and had just about as much game as we could carry. We were heading back and needed to make camp for the night. It was our routine to take turns watching, as any hunting party would do if they don’t want their goods stolen or eaten in the dead of night.” Cirian’s cheeks matched his ruddy hair and Calandriel suspected he was far past his second goblet of drink. She nodded for him to continue.

“Anyway, I was about third watch, it was very late at night and Benniam sat up from where he was sleeping. His eyes were open, but when I spoke to him, he didn’t react, like he couldn’t hear me. He almost had, well, a small smile on his face. It was unnerving. I asked him what he was doing and he didn’t answer. He just stood up and started to walk back into the Deep of the Brecilian forest where we had just come from. I called after him, louder, but he just smiled and walked away. I would have gone after him, but I wouldn’t leave Trista alone with all the game, now would I?” Cirian shrugged.

“Anyway,” he went on. “We were close enough that we made it back to the camp the next day by early afternoon now carrying everything with only the two of us. We saw no trace of Benniam at all in the morning and haven’t since. The next hunting party that went out was told to look for him, but we haven’t heard anything. Some are talking about bad dreams, but to me it almost seemed like he was sleepwalking, you know?” Cirian shook his head. Clearly that night still troubled him.

“Does this Benniam have any family in the settlement here?” Calandriel asked. 

“Not anymore. He was married, but his wife died a few years back. He was never the same ever since.” Cirian said with a sigh.

“I think that’s just it,” Trevar said. Calandriel was startled. He had been so quiet, she had forgotten he was sitting near them. “He was all alone, and he missed his wife so much. Don’t you think if a spirit happened upon him, it could have tempted him by taking her form or promising he could see her again?” He looked back and forth between Calandriel and Cirian, seeing if they followed his theory.

“If the spirit was a demon, I’m sure it would do anything it could to tempt someone it could possess. Have you spoken to the… Wolf about this, Cirian?” Calandriel felt a strange flutter in her stomach at the mention of the menacing Tevinter traveler. 

Cirian rolled his eyes. “He wouldn’t speak to someone like me. Besides, there’s been so much else going on that he’s been busy with the Keeper. We’ve moved locations a few times throughout the forest, but strange things keep happening. It almost makes me anxious to sleep at night myself.”

“I understand,” Calandriel said. “Well, the Grey Wardens and I are going to try to help you all. Thank you for being so honest with me, Cirian.” Calandriel touched the young man’s hand as she stood up from the table. 

“We’ve got more stories, if it pleases!” Cirian said. Trevar also nodded excitedly in hopes that they would continue to be seen with the beautiful newcomer. 

“I thank you two very much. I would like to speak to some others before the evening is through,” Calandriel smiled and left them.

After seeing that Cirian and Trevar hadn’t been harmed after Calandriel’s inquiries, some other elves began to open up to her. Some even became excited to have someone to talk to about their nightmares since the Keeper was so busy as of late. Calandriel tried to puzzle together patterns from everyone’s stories. Nightmares, or normal elves not acting like themselves. One brave young woman even admitted to finding herself a few miles from the encampment one afternoon, not knowing how she had gotten there. Yes, Calandriel thought. Spirits and demons are definitely at work here. 

Calandriel began to grow weary. As hard as the stories were to hear, she was beginning to feel a small sense of camaraderie with these people. She was so tempted to ask if anyone knew her parents or where they had gone, but she knew to stick to the matter at hand. Her personal life could wait until later. Thanking the elves she had been sitting near a fire with, she found her way to the _aravel_ she and Zevran had claimed to get ready for bed.

Zevran was not there when she arrived, and for once she was grateful to be alone when going to bed. It was a lot for her to be among the Dalish once again, and the circumstances that had brought her there had been extraordinary. She felt exhausted, excited, and overwhelmed all at once, though now the exhaustion was overruling any other emotions she had. She climbed into the _aravel_ and changed into the sheer white gown that she normally slept in, enjoying the cool sensation of the silk against her skin. Although the temperature had dropped significantly since they had first set out on their journey, she had worked up a sweat between the roars of the feast fires and her surmounting anxiety. As she climbed into the bed, she could see her staff and some of Zevran’s daggers propped up against the bench on the opposite side of the _aravel_. She felt comforted knowing that the Keeper trusted them enough to give them their weapons back. 

Once she had situated herself under the soft blankets of the bed, she closed her eyes, trying to drift off. But sleep did not find her. She could still hear talking and music coming from the feast and the occasional sound of soft footsteps outside as elves wandered drunkenly to bed. Her mind raced with thoughts of everything that had happened. She thought of that fateful day eight years ago when she’d been forced into the Circle, the faces of all the people she might never see again, her family, the Joining, Duncan, Alistair and Astrid, Zevran… But most of all, she thought of the Tevinter elf. Why did he keep crossing her mind? There was something about him that intrigued her. With her last thought being of the ex-slave, she finally felt the warm embrace of slumber, though her comfort did not last for long. 

Everything looked strange, and yet somehow she accepted it as normal. The sky was a sickly green and islands of earth floated amid the clouds above her, casting ghastly shadows all around. She was still in a Dalish camp, she noted, looking around at all the _aravels_ , though it appeared to be a different one. The sails of the covered wagons were painted differently. She recognized the art style immediately.

“Calandriel?” came a familiar voice. 

She felt her breath catch in her chest and turned around excitedly. “Father?” 

She couldn’t believe it. It was them. It was her parents. Her mother, diminished by a cascade of straight platinum hair, and her father, all golden curls. Their eyes shone with tears as Calandriel raced to meet them, their arms wrapping around her in a tight hug. “I can’t believe it. I’ve missed you so much.” She could feel tears streaming down her cheeks now and her mother wiped them away lovingly with a delicate hand. “But I thought you’d left the Brecilian Forest?” She pulled back from them and glanced around again at her surroundings. She had already forgotten that this was a different encampment. Somehow, though, she didn’t question how she’d gotten there. 

“Nevermind that, _da’len_ ,” her mother said soothingly. “We are so happy to be reunited with you again.” But something in the woman’s smile didn’t sit right with Calandriel. It seemed forced. She looked over at her father whose face appeared masklike, his _vallaslin_ looking hastily painted on instead of artfully tattooed. He lacked the fine chiseled features she remembered from her childhood and his normally shimmering silver eyes were a dull grey. 

“What’s wrong, my little Calan?” her father asked, taking a step closer. Calandriel did not know what drove her, but she cautiously stepped back from him. “Are you afraid? You’ve nothing to fear, my child. I will protect you…”

But as he spoke, the fear grew more deeply in her and the gentle tenor of his voice became deeper, demonic. She continued to edge backward until she knew what he was and broke into a run. 

“YOU CANNOT ESCAPE ME!” The voice cried out in a chorus of warped, dissonant tones. Just as it did, Calandriel suddenly felt the world around her shake. She tripped and went crashing down, though the reverberations did not cease. The earth was trembling. The islands above her began to crack and lose some of their soil, which rained down upon them. Calandriel shielded her eyes from the falling dirt and peered back at the demon that had previously been disguised as her father. _A desire demon,_ she thought, noting the voluptuousness of the figure’s feminine shape. _I knew it._ The horned creature glided unnaturally toward her until it hovered just before her, its face twisted into a smile that was both alluring and horrifying at the same time. 

“You will never have me, _demon_ ,” the elf spat, pulling herself up from the ground. She rolled her hands together around an invisible ball and sent a spell of purple energy at the creature. It hurtled backwards just as the world around her began to fade to black. She closed her eyes tightly and then opened them. 

“Snap out of it!” The ex-slave was shaking her violently. The scrolling marks that adorned his coppery skin were glowing aquamarine, as were his eyes. He had no pupils, irises, or sclera. Just that unearthly bluish radiance that could strike fear into even the bravest of souls.

Calandriel looked up at him fearfully, and with unexpected gentleness, he let her go. The light faded from his eyes, though the marks on his neck and arms continued to gleam. She could hear shouting and the clang of metal on metal outside. She glanced over at the bench and could see that Zevran’s daggers were gone. 

“The demons. They’re attacking,” Fenris said urgently, wasting no time. He looked over at the white staff she’d been eyeing and shook his head. “Stay. Here. And whatever you do, do not touch that thing,” he growled. With that, he leapt out of the _aravel_ , emitting a battle cry as he did so. 

Calandriel felt disoriented but she quickly pulled herself together. Ignoring the elf’s commands, she seized her staff and climbed out of the landship. 

There were demons and elves everywhere. Green ghouls swooped between the trees and dove upon the Dalish, who in turn rose their bows and sent a showering of arrows at the ghastly beings. Alistair and Astrid fought back-to-back. The knight battered a ghoul out of his way with Duncan’s shield only to turn and slash at another enemy. Astrid deftly matched his every move, slaying one of the fiendish ghosts that attempted to attack Alistair from the rear. 

Oghren had gone berserk and was swinging his axe madly from side to side, hacking down an entire column of the frightening phantoms while Morrigan sent a wave of frost over the battlefield. Zevran was laughing maniacally, drunk on the energy he got from killing. Or perhaps he was just drunk. Or more likely, it was a combination of the two. 

“Extinguish any remaining fires!” Fenris cried out as he sliced through a foe. “Think despairing thoughts! They feed on warmth and comfort.” As he spoke, Calandriel saw that he was about to be overtaken by a host of ghouls. Wasting no more time, she gripped her staff and sent a chilling spell at the creatures. They froze in place and the Tevinter warrior swept his greatsword across their icy bodies, shattering them instantly. He glanced back at the source of the spell and Calandriel thought she could see the faintest upward curve of a satisfied smile grace his lips before he turned back and continued fighting. His eyes and markings were alight with that same aqua fire as before. As another demon descended upon him, he let go of his sword with one hand and thrust it into his attacker, his fingers pulling into a tight fist. The light of his markings shone more brilliantly and emanated a swirling beryl smoke as the lyrium worked its magic and instantly felled the ghoul in a spectacular explosion.

The battle raged on for several minutes more, each of them trying to concentrate simultaneously on the action of the battle but also attempting to think of unpleasant things. Calandriel noticed that when she thought of the disappointment of finding out her parents had been no more than a trick of the Fade, the ghouls that had been advancing on her lost interest and floated away. 

Once the last of the fires had been put out, the battle ground was illuminated only by the ethereal glow of the apparitions and the light of the mages’ spells. Thankfully, they did not have to fight long. With no warmth and no light, the last of the ghouls gave up and glided away through the trees, leaving the elves and the travelling companions with no casualties. A few Dalish were hurt, but it was nothing that a little rest or a potion wouldn’t cure. 

Fenris drove his massive sword into the ground and rested his hands around the hilt, panting heavily. The lyrium flames faded from his eyes until they refocused into his natural bright emerald. Everyone else felt just as winded and stood for a moment in silence, trying to catch their breath. 

“I knew it wouldn’t be long before they returned,” the ex-slave finally spoke. He glared at Calandriel. “But it was you that hastened them!”

Astrid stormed close to the elf until they were face to face. He was fairly tall for an elf and they reached the same eye level. “How dare you accuse her. We had nothing to do with this!”  
“If you had nothing to do with it, then speak to the Keeper. Tell him the truth.” He brushed off the noble woman and continued to gaze intensely at Calandriel. “You know of what I speak.”  
Calandriel’s silver eyes were wide with a mixture of fear, sadness, and shame. Her trip into the Fade most certainly had drawn the spirits to them. She could feel the hundreds of eyes upon her and she suddenly realized how naked she felt in just her nightclothes. She pulled her long sheaf of wavy white hair over her chest and began walking in the direction of the Keeper’s hut. 

“What does he mean?” Astrid asked, trailing along with her. 

“I’ll explain when we reach the Keeper,” the elf said. She turned back to see that the Tevinter was following them; most likely to ensure that they didn’t sneak off. 

Zevran made to go after them as well, but Alistair held him back, shaking his head. 

The Keeper was outside of his birch bark shelter when they arrived, having been alerted to the danger just as it had been winding down. He wore a simple green sleeping robe now and his hair had been taken out of its elaborate braids. Despite this, he still had an air of immaculate elegance about him. 

“ _Hahren_ ,” Calandriel said and bowed before anyone could speak. “I must tell you I have been to the Fade this night. I saw the desire demon that is causing all of this.”

The Keeper gazed down his gracefully sloping nose at her and then sighed, glancing away. “Come inside. The three of you,” he added, gesturing for his vanguard to stay outside. He led them in with a sweep of his flowing sleeve and the two women took seats on the wooden bench that sat adjacent to the Keeper’s more elaborately carved seating. Fenris hovered near the door, ensuring that they could not escape. Calandriel took a deep breath and explained the Fade dream she’d had and her encounter with the demon in great detail.

“Have you experienced dreams like this before?” The Keeper asked, his ice blue eyes piercing. 

Astrid looked at Calandriel with curiosity. The elven woman flicked her eyes toward her friend, but could not bear to look at her. She felt as if she had betrayed everyone. She looked down at her pale hands, fidgeting. “Yes,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “But not since before I went to the Circle. I used to have Fade dreams all the time.”

The Keeper leaned forward with interest. “And did you feel in control when you were there? Or were you mystified by the facade?” His voice was strangely eager. 

“Well…” she began slowly. “When I was a child living with the Dalish and I had them more frequently, I felt in control. I could recognize what was real and what was not. I could sometimes converse with the spirits there. Ask them questions… When I went to the Circle, though, they taught me how to shut it out completely. I guess being back amongst elvish magic, it just sort of… reawakened something in me.”

“I see…” The Keeper said, touching his fingertips together as he pondered. He leaned back in his seat, contemplating for what felt like an eternity in the heavy silence. “I think there is a chance that you might be a Dreamer.”

“A what?” Astrid asked, her curiosity always getting the better of her. She knew the least about magic of those present and couldn’t help but inquire. 

“ _Somniari,_ as they are known in Tevene. The first Archon of the Tevinter Imperium was one,” Fenris said, emerging from the shadow of the doorway. “They are not only able to enter the Fade at will, but they also possess the ability to distinguish reality from lies while there.”

“And they can invade the dreams of others, even take over the will of demons to destroy them from the inside. If you _are_ a Dreamer, it could prove very useful,” the Keeper said.  
“ I can’t be,” Calandriel pleaded. “Dreamers are so rare.”

“But they _do_ exist,” the Keeper said. “There is only one way to find out. If you can willingly enter the Fade with the inducing herbs, then we’ll know. I can supply you with them.”

“But don’t lots of mages have Fade dreams?” Astrid asked. 

“Yes, and no,” the Keeper explained patiently. “They have to be sent there by magical ritual, such as the Circle’s Harrowing, or by a curse. They do not typically enter the Fade just by sleeping. And most that experience such nightmares do not ever return to this world.” His eyes glowed with intensity at this final remark. Calandriel and Astrid regarded each other gravely.  
“That sounds...terrifying,” Astrid said meekly. 

“Matters of the Fade are not to be taken lightly for that very reason,” the Keeper said. He spoke with them at length about such matters until it was clear that the exhaustion of the fight and the lateness of the hour was wearing on them all. “But it grows late. I think the best thing we all can do now is to get some rest. There will be much to do and discuss tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Astrid said and immediately rose. She placed a tentative hand on her friend’s shoulder, who stared blankly ahead. 

“Calandriel,” the Keeper said firmly, his voice resonating with authority. Calandriel shook her head and looked up at the imposing Keeper, who was now standing in front of her. “I want to talk to you more about entering the Fade and dreaming. Meet me again here at dusk tomorrow evening. If you are not nearby, I will send for you.”

Calandriel managed a nod and slowly rose to her feet. She didn’t bother with any formalities as she and Astrid left the Keeper’s hut. As they exited the structure, Calandriel glanced sideways at the Tevinter, who gave her a hard look. 

Outside, the sky was a muted brown, just before dawn. The camp was clearly still in disarray, even though most of the Dalish had returned to their _aravels_ and there was no sign of any of their companions. They hadn’t realized how long they’d been with the Keeper. Astrid and Calandriel walked in silence, though they were both thinking of the horror that had just passed at the camp. They reached the _aravel_ where Calandriel had been sleeping earlier. Quiet until now, the silvery elf turned to Astrid. 

“Will you stay with me? Until I fall asleep?” Calandriel asked, hoping that Astrid did not find her childish.

“Of course.” Astrid said without hesitation. “But isn’t Zevran…” she began.

“I really don’t know where he is. He might be out with the scouts. But to tell the truth, he does not bring me the same comfort these past few days.” Calandriel spoke softly as they stepped into the _aravel_. Calandriel drew her staff to her hand, but then thought better of it. She did not want to use any more magic tonight. The thought of being caught immediately made her think of the Wolf, that Fenris. She shook her head, as though she could physically jostle thoughts of the gruff Tevinter out of her mind. 

Astrid seemed to follow her lead and stepped outside to remove a small oil lamp which hung just outside the entrance of the _aravel_. The room now had a soft glow as Astrid set the lamp on the floor in the middle of the _aravel_. Astrid sat at the bench and began to unlace her boots one by one. Dirt crumbled from the bottoms as she propped each boot on her knee.  
“So, do you think things will be the same for you and Zevran after a while?” Astrid asked quietly.

Calandriel, who was sitting at the bed, glanced up at her friend. 

“I don’t know. I’m trying so hard to forgive him. Maybe, though, yes, after a time things will be as they were.” Calandriel said. Astrid, however, didn’t look convinced. Encouraging as ever, she didn’t let on. 

“I really do think he loves you,” Astrid said. “I just imagine he’s quite used to being on his own and doing whatever he likes.” Astrid winced at this last remark.

“It’s alright. You’re right. Honestly, though, since we arrived here I haven’t felt as sad about it as I did in Denerim and when we were traveling. Despite what happened tonight, it’s been really comforting to be here at the camp.” Calandriel explained.

“Do you think your dream really summoned the demons? That Fenris fellow was so angry with you, it made me mad!” Astrid confessed as she began to unlace her leather bodice. 

“I hate to admit it, but I think he was right. Fenris.” Calandriel said, feeling a small jolt in her stomach as she felt the strange elf’s name on her tongue. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight, if that’s alright.”

“I understand,” Astrid said. “Now why don’t you lay down and I will tell you a happy story.”

The two friends climbed into the _aravel’s_ bed and Astrid stroked Calandriel’s long silvery strands of hair as she began her tale.

“Once upon a time, there was a mighty dwarf named Oghren. Now most dwarves do not possess magic but Oghren had a very special power. He was the only dwarf in all of Orzammar who could fly. To fly into the air and forward, he had but to fart. With a great gust of wind from his bottom, he flew up and out of Orzammar. If he ever wished to return or go backwards, he simply belched. With a great roar from his mouth, he could return all the way back to where he came from. And so it was that Oghren was able to quickly travel all about Thedas, propelling himself with his copious gas.” Astrid’s voice was animated and joyful.

“That’s disgusting,” Calandriel said, but in the faint light of the lamp, Astrid could see a smile on her face.


	31. Lessons with the Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calandriel works with the Keeper to gain control over her newly discovered power. A little help is needed.

Astrid’s eyes shot open as she felt Calandriel sit bolt upright in the bed next to her. The elf was breathing heavily.

“Are you alright, Calandriel?” the rogue said sleepily, too tired to rise herself. 

“Yes. Just… a nightmare.” Calandriel gasped.

“Was it --” Astrid asked, her concern growing.

“No, no. I can’t even remember it now.” Calandriel said. She slowly lowered herself back down into the bed and pulled the plush feather blanket up to her chin. 

“You’re not alone, alright?” Astrid managed to say softly again before they both fell back asleep.

When Astrid opened her eyes again, the light of the oil lamp was drowned in the natural sunlight flooding in through the window and ceiling gaps of the _aravel_. No matter how horrible the circumstances, the light of morning always made Astrid feel better if she’d had a bad night. She distinctly remembered feeling that way as she had set out to leave Ostagar with Calandriel and Alistair. 

“Alistair!” Astrid suddenly cried aloud. She had been so concerned for Calandriel and preoccupied with the Keeper that she had forgotten to tell Alistair where she would be. Hopefully he would understand. Astrid quietly slipped out of the _aravel_ bed, hoping not to disturb Calandriel. _She needs all the peaceful sleep she can get,_ Astrid thought, shaking her head at her friend.

Astrid hastily slipped on her boots and attempted to tame the wild golden curls that framed her face by pulling them back into a simple braid, all the while trying to remain as quiet as possible. She carefully tiptoed out of the _aravel_ and made her way down the footpath that led to the nearest wagon where Alistair would be. 

She did not knock, but instead boldly entered, now feeling much more comfortable in the knight’s presence. She cast her eyes around the landship and saw clothes and pieces of armor strewn about hastily. Alistair’s crisp linen shirt was draped over the bench opposite the bed. She picked it up and breathed in its heady scent. It smelled just like him; fresh, with a hint of rose hips. She set it back down again and crept toward the bed, but was startled by what she found. Alistair was not alone!

Resting on the side closest to her was someone with long flaxen hair out of which poked a pointed ear. She gasped when she saw it and felt her heart rate beginning to climb rapidly. The sharp intake of air was enough to stir the interloper. They rolled over, kicking off the blanket as they did so, revealing a familiar, naked man; his member fully erect, his eyes beginning to open. “ _Zevran!_ ” she cried, now torn between embarrassment and amusement. Her voice was loud enough to awaken Alistair, who had been dozing on the other side of the elven man. 

“Wh-whassamatter?” Alistair said, blinking blearily as he rolled over and propped himself up. His brown eyes looked with confusion at Astrid and then at the person lying next to him and suddenly became huge with realization. “AHH!” he let out a less-than-manly shriek and jumped back from the elf, drawing the covers up over him as if that would somehow protect him.

Zevran yawned and stretched out his arms, completely oblivious to the humans’ discomfort. 

Astrid found herself staring as the elf rolled out of bed. “What are you two so worked up about?” Zevran asked as he began to gather up his miscellaneous garments from across the _aravel._

“I swear, we did NOT sleep together!” Alistair said, his voice trembling. “Right? RIGHT??”

“What are you talking about?” Zevran asked, a smile playing about his face. “Of course we did!”

Alistair looked horrified. Astrid was speechless.

Zevran laughed. “Our lady Grey Wardens spent the night together, and I needed a place to sleep. Morrigan would have slit my throat no doubt, had I entered her wagon, and Oghren is far too smelly. So I slept here.”

“But WHY are you NAKED!?” Alistair cried.

“Why aren’t _you_?” Zevran asked, arching an eyebrow. “I always sleep naked. It is so _freeing._ I think perhaps you should try it some time. You are too uptight, my good man.” He pulled on his leather skirt and boots, gathered up the rest of his things, bowed to Astrid, and then departed, leaving the two humans shocked and alone. 

As soon as he disappeared, Astrid sat on the edge of the bed and burst into uproarious laughter. Alistair hesitantly joined in and the two of them chuckled over the ridiculousness of the situation. 

“He had me there for a moment,” Alistair said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d drugged me or something. Oghren’s been calling him the ‘anal assassin.’” At this, the two of them laughed again. 

“To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised either,” Astrid said. “I think this is probably the longest he’s gone without sex in quite some time.”

Picking up on her cue, Alistair asked, “How is Calandriel?”

Astrid recounted their talk with the Keeper the night before. “So, we’ll probably be here for at least another week while she studies with the Keeper. I don’t mind, I guess. Our next stop will be the Circle Tower.”

“You sound hesitant,” Alistair said, moving closer so that both of them were now sitting on the edge of the bed. 

Astrid’s heart began to pound again as she looked over at his bare chest out of her periphery. “I suppose I am a little. Magic is so unfamiliar to me. To be honest, I’m even a little fearful of it. It’s my Chantry-upbringing, I guess.”

“I understand completely. Well, we can both feel out of our element together. How do you think _I_ feel as an ex-templar? It’s going to be uncomfortable, to say the least.” He put a hand comfortingly on hers and Astrid felt her stomach flutter at his gentle touch. “Anyway, let’s not worry about that for now. We’re already making headway with the demon problem here, which will bring us that much closer to gaining the elves’ support. And we’ve already got the dwarves to back us. Can you believe it?” He looked at her with a fiery intensity in his eyes, a true Grey Warden. 

“It does feel like a story out of legend,” Astrid said, meeting his gaze. 

“I just hope it has a fairy tale ending…” the knight said, leaning in to kiss her. 

Astrid revelled in his rosy scent. Somehow he seemed impervious to the dirt and sweat of their travels. When they broke apart, the knight stood and assisted her up with a hand. “Now, my lady, our next quest is to find some breakfast.”

The two wended their way through camp, searching for a merchant who might have something to offer. They stumbled into what appeared to be a marketplace where each vendor specialized in something different. There was a colorful fruit stall, a hunter’s stall draped with rabbits, fowl, and other game, and a cheese vendor among many, many others. “Ah, Grey Wardens!” came a familiar, cool voice. It was Samahl, who had become something of a personal guide for them. “I thought I might find you here. We have already prepared a bountiful meal for you and your companions,” he said, bounding up to them. “The Keeper wishes that you do not want for anything. Follow me,” he added and led them to the feast area.

Oghren, Morrigan, and Zevran were already seated, the dwarf surrounded by empty plates covered in residue from all the food he’d stuffed himself with. His ruddy beard and mustache held unintentional leftovers. As the two humans approached, he brandished a turkey leg at them in a wave. “I’m not gonna call myself a knife-ear lover, but I’ll be damned if their food isn’t tasty!” He took a big swig of ale with his free hand and belched heartily.

“Be careful using that term, my swine-hearted friend,” Zevran cautioned, taking a sip of tea. “Some of these people can speak the common tongue and know what that means.”

“Ah, sod off, ya pipecleaner!” Oghren laughed. “Do ya think they know what _that_ means? Heh heh. Since when’s the butt-pirate giving out advice, anyway?”

“Remind me why we brought him along?” Alistair whispered to Astrid as they seated themselves. 

Astrid grabbed a blackberry pastry and helped herself to some tea. It was dark and energizing with a hint of lemony bergamot. It complimented the tartness of the pastry quite well. As she nibbled on it, she hoped that Calandriel would join them soon. _She would love this!_ she thought, but knew that her friend loved sleeping much more. 

They sat at the table chatting and slowly enjoying their breakfast. It felt odd not to be in a rush or to feel immediately in danger for once. Despite the previous night’s events, the camp felt like a quiet, peaceful place, and the Dalish no longer seemed to greet them with contempt. A few of the elves passing by about their daily business even stopped to thank them, and one little girl gave Astrid a posy of pink flowers in gratitude for helping them with the demons.

Calandriel soon joined them, once again dressed in her draping purple robes. She no longer had to hide who she was. “Good morning, friends!” she said, seating herself next to Astrid. Her voice was an attempt at cheeriness, though it was simply a mask for all the emotions she truly felt. She immediately began piling her plate with a salad of wildflowers, nuts and raspberry dressing, and added a generous spoonful of honey to the cup of tea that Zevran poured for her. 

They sat enjoying their breakfast for what felt like ages, taking in the late morning sunlight and the crisp early autumn breeze. The rest of the day was spent in a similar manner. They each took their time bathing, exploring, and speaking with the more adventurous members of the clan. Astrid even found herself bringing out her bardic skills when a young teenaged elven boy she had been conversing with busted out his lute. She drew a crowd of enraptured elves, who clapped and cheered for an encore of her singing. 

Calandriel kept to herself, feeling somewhat nervous about her impending lessons with the Keeper. At dusk, she made her way to his birchwood hut, her stomach lurching with every step. Why did she feel so afraid? She had been to the Fade before in her dreams and in her Harrowing at the Circle, and she was always interested in learning more magic. But intentionally seeking out the Fade was incredibly dangerous, and could mean disaster for the Dalish and her companions, not to mention herself. She could easily wind up trapped there, her body on earth no more than a husk while the demons of the Fade ate away at her soul. She shuddered and pushed the thoughts out of her mind just as she reached the Keeper’s hut. 

Several hours passed before she stumbled back out into the camp. She felt dazed and exhausted. The light of the moon above her felt almost too bright, though it was no more than a waxing gibbous. She blinked, gathered herself up, and made her way back toward the wagons where her companions would surely be asleep already. When she arrived back at their part of the encampment, she could see a single fire burning low. Warming herself next to it was Astrid, alone. 

Astrid stood at once as Calandriel walked heavy-footed toward the light. Her eyes had adjusted a little better now, though she still felt like she wanted to collapse. “How did it go?” Astrid asked, her voice full of concern. 

Calandriel plopped down on a stump beside the fire, grateful to be sitting. Astrid seated herself beside her friend, her eyes searching and worried. 

“It was… an experience,” the elf said, not fully answering her. The truth was, she didn’t know how to explain it. “The Keeper gave me this tea made of special herbs that is supposed to induce entering the Fade. It worked… sort of. I fell asleep almost immediately. I think I even touched the Fade too, but it was faint. I felt like I was stuck between worlds, here and there at the same time. I saw visions, but I couldn’t interact with them.”

“Was it tiring? You look exhausted,” Astrid commented, sweeping back a lock of the elf’s hair, which had an uncharacteristic messy look to it.

Calandriel managed a small laugh. “It was. I felt like the moment I had fallen into the Fade, I was immediately being wrenched back to the waking world. Kind of like when you sleep too deeply and wake up in the middle of a nightmare. I feel like I had only been there for a minute or two, but judging by the height of the moon right now, I guess it had been hours.” 

“That’s a frightening thought,” Astrid said, frowning. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like in the Fade, and the thought of leaving your body to age and rot while your spirit roamed another realm was terrifying. “Will you go back?”

Calandriel looked at the woman earnestly. “Yes. I have to. I believe it is the only thing that will save this clan.”

Astrid nodded and helped her friend to bed. Calandriel fell asleep immediately and was very pleased the next day when she awoke to find that she had had no dreams of any kind. 

The next few days passed in a similar fashion. At dusk each night, Calandriel would venture to the Keeper’s hut, and a few hours later, she would stumble back to the _aravels_ and sleep well into the early afternoon. Everyone was beginning to get restless, though; herself included. The lessons with the Keeper were not progressing much and she began to grow more and more frustrated with herself. She was doing everything the Keeper urged her to do and yet their progress actually seemed to backtrack after a while. She felt a failure, though the Keeper was not ready to give up. After the fourth lesson, he had told her he’d had an idea, though he did not say what. 

On the fifth night, Calandriel made her way once again to meet with her teacher, feeling determined. She had spent the day mingling with the other elves, and seeing and interacting with them brought her a sense of hope. She could not let these people down. She entered the Keeper’s hut, feeling purposeful and resolute, but as she stepped over the threshold, she was startled by another’s presence. She gasped and nearly tripped over herself when she saw Fenris lingering in the dark behind the Keeper. 

“I’m sorry,” Calandriel said, brushing herself off. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be here.” She wasn’t entirely sure how she should act around the warrior. He clearly did not approve of her magical abilities but she wanted to be polite nonetheless. 

“Fenris will be helping us tonight,” the Keeper explained. “You see, most mages enter the Fade through the use of lyrium, not herbs, regardless of whether they are a Dreamer or not. I still believe you _are_ a Dreamer, though I think we should have started with lyrium before using the herbal supplement. It will be much easier. I believe after some practice, you will no longer require the lyrium.”

“I still don’t understand what _he_ has to do with this,” Calandriel said cautiously, indicating the Tevinter. 

“My markings…” Fenris began quietly. “The magisters burned my flesh with lyrium, leaving me with these.” He held up his hands to better show the curling scrollwork that traced his skin. “They still hold the power of that substance. I am imbued with lyrium.”

Calandriel said nothing. She didn’t know what she _could_ say. _I’m sorry?_ or _That’s neat?_ She knew whatever process used to burn those markings into his flesh must have been excruciating, and yet it was fascinating at the same time. His body was probably flowing with magic, and yet he was not a mage.

“So you see, since we are not dwarves or templars, and therefore at a shortage of lyrium, I thought perhaps we could channel some of Fenris’s,” said the Keeper. 

“And he has agreed to this?” Calandriel said in a skeptical tone, her eyes narrowing. 

Fenris stepped forward so that he was lit by the central fire of the hut. The warm golden light against his skin contrasted with the blue and black shadows that framed him. His thick white hair fell over one eye and he tossed it back instinctively. “I apologize for being so harsh to you before… Magic has colored my world in the darkest of ways, but I agree to this because I believe there is no other way.”

Calandriel did not feel satisfied by this apology at all. “So what is this, ‘sorry, not sorry?’ It is possible for magic to be used for good, you know. And I intend to do just that.”

“Now, now. Calm down, the both of you,” the Keeper said serenely. “You do not want to enter the Fade with anger in your heart, Calandriel.”

He was right. She needed to focus. She took a deep breath and said, “Alright. Tell me what I need to do.”

“Take Fenris’s hands. He will activate the power of the lyrium and you should be able to draw upon it,” said the Keeper.

Calandriel looked carefully at the elven warrior standing before her. He had seemingly disappeared from the camp prior to this moment, as she had not seen him since the feast shortly after their arrival. He was clad in his Tevinter armor once again, though he had removed his gauntlets to perform the ritual. She stepped more closely so that they now stood face-to-face. He was slightly taller than her, his face stoic so as not to betray any emotion. She imagined he had had to learn a long time ago to hide his true feelings in order to survive. He held out his hands, palms up, and reluctantly, she took them. Her skin looked white as ivory against the bronze of his. At her touch, she could see the muscles in his jaw clench and the way he closed his eyes to mask the pain he felt. She quickly pulled her hands away, not wanting to inflict any discomfort, but he took them forcefully back into his grasp, his forest-colored eyes now set on hers. 

The Keeper stood a few feet from them, watching.

At Calandriel’s touch, the elf’s markings began to glow with the same aquamarine fire as before, the color of lyrium. Intuitively, Calandriel began to channel its energy into herself. The veins in her hands took on the same ethereal glow as the magic slowly crept into her and worked its way up through her arms, towards her heart. It made her feel utterly invincible, like she could do anything. She looked up at Fenris, who was grimacing through ragged breaths. The process was clearly painful for him. The sight made her want to stop, but then she reminded herself of why they were doing this in the first place and she pressed on until the lyrium reached her heart. At that, she felt the departure of her spirit from her body as if she was being propelled through space and time. Tearing through the Veil, she landed on her feet in the Fade. 

[ ](http://imgur.com/QNymuRl)

The sky had that same characteristic sickly green pallor as before, and the landscape was all mauve. This time, she was not mystified by the place and felt confident in knowing where she was and that none of it was real. Somehow, she could sense the safety and groundedness of the physical body she had left behind and the lyrium that now coursed through her veins made her feel like anything was possible. She meandered through pillars of purple stone and along dusty paths for what seemed like an age, exploring forgotten caves and watching as wisps and minor spirits floated disinterestedly past her. There was no sign of the desire demon that she had encountered almost a week earlier, nor any of its ghouls. She wondered at this completely different experience and the way in which the demons seemed not to notice her. Feeling as though she would gain nothing more from this excursion, she decided to go back. Searching her mind for the Dalish camp, she grasped it mentally and began to feel the world around her falling away. The unpleasant greens and violets dissolved slowly into the merry, warm copper of the Keeper’s fire as the Fade gave way to the physical world once again. She blinked and found herself resting comfortably against another person. She must have collapsed, for now she and Fenris sat on the floor, her head against his chest, his arms around her supportingly. This realization took a moment to settle in and as it did, she drew back hastily and attempted to hoist herself up, though she was so weak, she could scarcely lift herself. 

“Do not strain yourself too hard,” the Keeper said, smiling. “You have just done the impossible!”

Calandriel looked up at him dazédly, and he continued to speak. “The both of you must be exhausted. I am excited to hear what happened, but I think you should sleep before we discuss it.”

The elven woman nodded complacently as fatigue took over her body. She felt achey and sore, as if she had just physically exerted herself for an extended period of time. She made an effort to lift herself off the floor again, but failed pitifully.

“Here, let me help you,” Fenris’s voice came gently. He offered his hand and she took it, already forgetting the way in which it hurt him to be touched. As he pulled her up, she noted the way he subtly bit back his lower lip to divert the pain. His forehead was glistening from sweat and she could see markings there where his hair had once covered. It seemed there was no part of him that wasn’t touched by the swirling linework. Once standing, she tried to step forward on her own, but swooped dangerously and fell back into his arms. The rush the lyrium had given her was powerful, but the consecutive crash was awful. “It’s alright,” he reassured her, and she gave in and leaned on him for support as they exited the Keeper’s hut. 

Each step they took through the sleeping village was clearly agony for the warrior as evidenced by his staccato breaths. “You don’t have to do this,” Calandriel said. “I can make it back on my own.”

“I’m _fine,_ ” Fenris pressed. “I am quite capable of escorting a lady across a camp. I’ve been through much worse.”

She didn’t doubt this and could not even begin to imagine what horrors he must have had to endure as a slave. Suddenly, an idea came to her. She stopped and broke apart from him once more. He looked at her quizzically as she placed her hands on each side of his neck and summoned mana from her core. Her hands glowed with white fog as she channelled healing magic into the warrior’s body, but as the spell left her fingertips, it drew on her last reserves, leaving her utterly and completely drained. She collapsed once again, this time unconscious. Fenris caught her and for the first time since the lyrium had been burned into his flesh all those years ago, he was without pain.


	32. The Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astrid and Calandriel venture into the Fade, where temptation abounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will add italics later. There's a lot and I'm feeling lazy right now.

The Tevinter felt heady and light, even while he carried Calandriel towards her aravel. In comparison to the constant ache and smarting of his lyrium marks, it was like inhabiting a different body. He knew which aravel she slept in because it was ingrained in his mind to notice things. A lifetime of servitude and torture had made Fenris acutely aware of other people’s movements and habits. From the woods, he had noticed Calandriel rising from her aravel in the late morning. Sometimes he saw the Antivan, the brazen assassin, enter and exit the aravel. More often, though, it was the girl. He couldn’t help but think of the curly-haired Grey Warden as but a girl with her pink armor and doe eyes. She had a sweet demeanor that didn’t agree with him. At least she won’t be alone, the Wolf thought. He glanced down at Calandriel's limp frame. Her face was pale, even more so than its usual coloring. 

Calandriel was aware, albeit subconsciously, that she was being carried. She wanted to open her eyes and see who was holding her so protectively as he or she strode along. Calandriel, however, could not manage to raise an eyelid. In the deepest part of her, she knew who held her and was afraid she was still dreaming. Opening her eyes would only end the safe comfort she now experienced. 

Fenris shifted Calandriel awkwardly as he knocked on the side of the aravel. In the dim light of the lantern hanging from it, the Antivan emerged.

“What has happened?!” he whispered urgently. 

“She has overexerted herself tonight. I think she’ll be alright if she is allowed to rest.” Fenris whispered back.

The Antivan, Zevran, after only a moment’s hesitation, stepped aside to allow Fenris room to enter the aravel. Fenris gently lay Calandriel down. As he let go of her, the muscles in his arms spasmed. Fenris didn’t know if they twitched from carrying her. He was used to carrying far heavier burdens than the slender elven woman. His forearms seized again in tension and once again felt the lyrium in his arms. Throughout his body, he felt pins and needles as the lyrium freely flowed. Being free of the pain felt too sweet. 

“Are you alright?” Zevran asked, noticing Fenris’s shaking arms. “Won’t you take some brandy?” 

Fenris shook his head, already making to leave the aravel. “Just make sure she rests, please.”

Zevran smiled too quickly. “I shall, of course! Can you tell me what happened?”

Ignoring Zevran’s request, Fenris took a step back towards the Antivan and ducked his head conspiratorially. “Do not wake her. Promise me you’ll let her be. She’s seen enough tonight.” Fenris was waving a finger and his voice was filled with such urgency that Zevran drew back.

“I promise.” Zevran replied, the warmth gone from his voice. He knelt next to Calandriel as the Tevinter exited without a sound. 

Calandriel did not wake until early afternoon the next day. She was alone in the aravel. As consciousness overcame her, she wondered how she had come to be there. She scoured her mind trying to recall walking back from the Keeper’s dwelling. The past few days had seemed a blur with her increasingly nocturnal studies in dreaming. She looked around her to see that she was still on top of the quilt in bed as though she had been set down. 

Fenris, Calandriel thought. Her stomach seemed to drop as she remembered him offering to walk her back the night before. He must have brought me back. Calandriel felt strange. Would he have spoken to Zevran? What had happened? She rose out of bed and slipping on her shoes, started toward the door of the aravel. As Calandriel hastily pulled the door open, she gasped in surprise. The Keeper was standing before her, hands gracefully folded behind his back. He looked as though he had been pacing.

“Please forgive my intrusion, Calandriel. I have been eager to speak to you since the events that transpired last night.” the Keeper said, still standing too close for Calandriel to step outside. 

“It is nothing, Keeper. What do you wish to tell me? Forgive me, but I remember little yet,” Calandriel said, striving for manners so soon after waking.

The Keeper waved his hand dismissively. “Last night, enchanter, you exceeded the skills of any dreamer I have ever known both in magical ability and mental fortitude.” He continued his pacing back and forth in front of Calandriel. She didn’t know what to say. 

“Why thank you, Keeper,” Calandriel muttered. 

“I’m not finished!” the Keeper said, turning to her with a swish of his long flaxen hair. “For this reason, I think we should wait no longer. I think tonight is when you must find and defeat the demons that so plague us.”

“Tonight? But what if I cannot find it tonight? It has evaded me so far,” Calandriel blurted, starting to feel anxiety at the thought of the task at hand.

“I think you are ready. And we cannot afford to delay anymore. Do what you must to prepare and meet me at dusk. Fenris will be present again to assist with lyrium so do not trouble yourself in finding any.” With that, the Keeper was walking away. Calandriel inhaled to call after him but realized he was right. They couldn’t wait any longer. She was not afraid and had been training for this for days now. She almost wondered if her willpower was too strong, though. If the demons preying upon this clan would avoid her. Then she had an idea.

Calandriel found Astrid with a small group of hunters practicing with a bow and arrow. Astrid was flushed from the activity and the afternoon heat. Astrid released an arrow, which struck on the outer edge of a practice target. She heaved a sigh in frustration, but the hunters, which included Cirian, the hunter Calandriel had spoken to at the feast, encouraged Astrid. 

“Bull’s eye!” Calandriel cheered, stepping up to her friend. 

“Hardly!” Astrid moaned. “I’ve got aim like a bronto, but practicing is fun.” 

“I’m sure you’ll catch on,” Calandriel said. “Astrid, will you come with me for a moment?”

Astrid was already stepping away from the group. She looked like she’d had enough practice for the day. 

“What’s going on? Are you just getting up? It’s even later than usual,” Astrid remarked, looking up at the sun to confirm the time. 

“Yes,” Calandriel admitted. “Last night was exhausting. So much so that apparently that Fenris had to carry me to the aravel.” Astrid’s brown eyes widened in surprise. Calandriel continued. “But I’ll tell you more about that later. I need to ask you a favor, Astrid.” Calandriel was anxious to ask her friend. She had heard Astrid say how frightening the Fade sounded, and yet, Calandriel knew she would be the best one to come along. 

“Anything, Calandriel. You’re my best friend, for what it’s worth in times like this.” Astrid laughed as they ambled around the camp. 

“I want you to come to the Fade with me tonight.” Calandriel said bluntly. Whatever Astrid had been expecting, clearly that wasn’t it. The Cousland girl stopped in her tracks and turned to regard Calandriel. 

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I trust you and need your help. I’m afraid I can’t say very much more than that.” Calandriel said, wishing she could sound more convincing. 

“Of course I’ll go.” Astrid said, looking earnestly at Calandriel. “Just tell me what to do. You do know I haven’t an ounce of magical training or knowledge, right?” 

“Yes, I know.” Calandriel smiled. “So tonight at dusk is when I’m going to the Keeper’s hut to go. All you’ll need to do is follow my lead and hold onto me. Once we get to the Fade you can follow my instructions and we can track down and kill the demons.”

Astrid swallowed visibly. She nodded and adopted as brave a face as she could. 

“Astrid,” Calandriel said after a few moments of silence. Astrid looked up to face her again. “I need you to know that whatever you see or hear in the Fade, it won’t be real. You might see things that feel so real, things you want to be real more than anything. The Fade is a strange place that tries to reflect our world back to us and the stronger the mental image or emotion, the easier it is to recreate. Does that make sense?”

“I think so.” Astrid said. “I will try and remember. I think I’m going to go track down Oghren, Morrigan, Zevran, and Alistair. I just want them to be ready in case something like the other night breaks out. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best, right?” Astrid let out a nervous laugh and strode away from Calandriel. 

Calandriel hoped desperately that the demons didn’t make it to the camp again. She remembered all too well the knowing look of disdain on Fenris’s face when he discovered her. 

“Stop!” Calandriel cried to herself, willing thoughts of him to leave her mind. She could resist the temptations of the Fade, yet she could not stop thinking about this gruff stranger. 

“Talking to yourself? Starting to sound more like the crazed mages I was acquainted with,” a deep voice resonated out from behind Calandriel. She turned around and started at the sight of Fenris himself. Trying to play it cool, Calandriel cleared her throat and continued to walk. 

“Not at all, I assure you. I’m just a normal, non-crazed mage.” Calandriel said. 

Fenris matched her stride. “You are many things, Calandriel,” he said. His large green eyes lingered on hers for a moment. “But normal is not one of them. I will see you at the Keeper’s tonight.”

Fenris quickened his step before Calandriel could ask him about the night before. She needed to find some place quiet and solitary to prepare for the evening. She couldn’t risk running to anyone again. She felt even more anxious than she had before, although her nerves weren’t entirely unpleasant when near Fenris. 

Though she had just recently awakened, Calandriel returned to her bed, closing the curtains of the earth ship around her. She needed the extra rest before tonight. And she was nervous about running into Fenris again and not knowing what to say. When she woke a few hours later, Calandriel felt refreshed in what seemed like the first time in days. It was a feeling similar to waking up for her final exams at the Circle Tower. After extensive study and practice, the only thing she could do was be well rested, eat, and have confidence. She stood up from the bed and straightened out, arching her back. She decided to don her violet robes for their comfort and familiarity. The inner pocket was always a plus when she wished to shrink her staff and hide it as well. There were other pockets inside where she could keep lyrium and dried herbs handy. Then again, Fenris said he’d see her. His body was a near infinite supply, with lyrium coursing through his vein-like markings. 

Calandriel picked up her satchel from the floor at the thought of herbs. She traveled relatively easily to the Fade now since she was a somniara, but Astrid would need a guiding scent. Even if Astrid was holding Calandriel’s hand, the burned herbs would help her navigate to the Fade. As Calandriel double checked her supply of plants and powders, she found a last spray of Queen Anne’s lace, a dried crumble by now. She wondered absently if Astrid had had cause to use her little concoction yet. Surely her friend would have told her, but then again, maybe not. Calan understood the simultaneous desire for secrecy in a new romance and to tell the world you were in love. She had felt that way with Cullen back in the day. Her relationship with Zevran was more complex, though. He was always so overt, there never really was much need to tell anyone.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped out into the camp. Calandriel could already hear Astrid issuing commands to their group.

“Zevran, I want you hiding near the camp entrance in case anything comes from that direction. Morrigan, close to the Keeper’s hut if an intervention is needed, Maker willing it isn’t. I don’t want all our mages in the Fade.” Astrid muttered the last comment with a sigh.

“How… dominant you are tonight, Lady Cousland. Watch out, Alistair!” Zevran jibed in his usual way. He saw Calandriel approaching the gathering group outside the Keeper’s hut.

“Moonflower,” he whispered, walking up and wrapping an arm around her slim waist. His tone was so sweet and earnest it warmed Calandriel’s heart. She suddenly felt guilty for all her fleeting thoughts of Fenris.

“I guess everyone is waiting on me now, right?” Calandriel asked as they walked towards the entrance of the birchwood hut.

“Yes, my amazing enchantress. I suppose you must get right to business, mustn’t you?” Zevran whispered flirtatiously. Calandriel kept walking, but Zevran pulled her back into him, his hands encircling her waist.

“Calan,” he began. His rich copper eyes bore into her silver ones, searching. “Do be careful. I, I…” Zevran stammered, for once at a loss for words. He looked at Calandriel’s face for confirmation, some encouragement. “I could not stand it if something happened to you.” Before Calandriel could reply, Zevran’s mouth was on hers, firm and insistent. She was quite surprised and stiffened. Zevran broke from her, his eyes widening in question. Calandriel was shocked at her own reaction, resisting when once she would have melted into his kiss.

“I need to go,” she muttered. She turned away from him and made a beeline to the entrance to the Keeper’s hut. Astrid soon stepped in after her. 

“If I may say so, can we get started? The sooner the better.” Astrid said as soon as she was inside. Calandriel thought she heard Astrid sniffle. 

“Let’s do this.” Calandriel said, rolling up her robe sleeves.

The Keeper and Fenris stood in front of the two women. They stepped forward to begin the process. As usual, there was a pile of cushions and blankets in the center of the Keeper’s hut. They were beautiful hand embroidered things, but Calandriel squashed a pillow under head, ready for the task at hand.

“Should I lay down here?” Astrid asked, already kneeling next to the dreaming space. 

“Yes,” Calandriel said offhandedly as she pulled posies of sage and catmint from her bag. She handed them over to the Keeper, who solemnly dropped them into a censer. He lit them and knelt near Astrid. 

“Do you understand where you are going?” the Keeper asked Astrid, his voice cold as steel.

“I understand,” Astrid said, nodding. 

“When you get there, you must find Calandriel right away. Under no circumstances should you wait or talk to anyone. Only go to her, do you hear me??” The Keeper did not raise his voice, but his consonants were clipped and intense. 

“I will. I promise.” Astrid said, and Calandriel could hear her friend masking her fear with bravado. 

“Then let’s begin,” The Keeper said. Calandriel joined Astrid laying down. She clasped her friend’s hand. Fenris now approached them and also knelt next to Calandriel. He took her hand in his own. Calandriel started at the firm grip of his warm hand. She looked up and saw the large green pools of his feline eyes. 

“Enchanter Calandriel and Lady Astrid Cousland, you must relax. I want you to take deep breaths, slowly imagining your breath seeping all the way into your toes, feeling them soften as you exhale.” The Keeper’s voice was a monotone as he swung the censer over them. Calandriel’s eyes were already closed and Astrid followed suit. 

The Keeper went on. “Now I want you to take a deep breath, breathing the air of our ancestors. I want you to imagine you are breathing in their guiding spirit into your legs now, giving you strong steps. Now exhale…” The Keeper’s voice was fading to the background as Calandriel and Astrid drifted into sleep.

* * *

The air whistled and howled, filling Astrid’s nostrils with a faint scent of metal like iron. Or blood. Her eyes slowly fluttered open to see a swirling sky and warped trees towering above her. The silence around her only seemed to exaggerate the wind blowing. Slowly, she propped herself up to a kneeling position. Just that movement made her feel nauseous and dizzy. Astrid’s stomach lurched, and she heaved, but expelled nothing. Taking a few deep breaths of the metallic air, she brought one foot to the ground so she was in a lunge position. Pushing up from her knee, she stood. 

She felt overwhelmed and dizzy all over again as the greenish brown sky swirled. There were trees around her, but none of them had leaves. Some had furnishings on them, like picture frames and mirrors. She could make out a small path where she stood. It was as though someone had dumped her right onto a trail like a mouse in a maze. Astrid started to walk along the trail, wondering where it might lead. She felt so vulnerable and completely alone. She wished for someone to give her a clue, or to help her figure out where this trail might lead. 

“Astrid? Are you there??” A familiar male voice called out from just around the bend of the trail. 

Thanking the Maker she wasn’t alone, Astrid quickened her pace and jogged toward the voice. “Alistair? Is that you?” she called out, her voice a panicked squeak. 

Alistair appeared, running around the bend of the trail into Astrid’s line of sight. He started toward her at once. Astrid ran toward him, immediately wrapping her arms around him and holding onto his comforting, solid body. She looked up at the knight whose blonde hair had been ruffled in the wind. 

“The Keeper let you come along?” Astrid asked in wonder.

“Nothing could keep me from you, Astrid.” Alistair said, his voice rife with emotion.

“Nor I from you!” Astrid cried. 

“Astrid, I know what we have started is still so new, but I just want to tell you, I really think you’re the one for me. I’ve never felt this way before, and I don’t think I ever will again.” Alistair’s usual sense of humor and teasing was nowhere to be found. Astrid gazed up at him, her heart trembling. Her stomach had gone from tumult to butterflies in a matter of moments. 

“Astrid, I want to be with you, and only you, forever.” Alistair whispered.

“Oh, Maker, Alistair!” Astrid tipped up onto her toes, pulling Alistair’s neck to her. She closed her eyes. 

Astrid heard the ring of steel and felt her daggers being drawn from her scabbards on her back. Before she knew what was going on, one was pressed to her throat and her hands were gripped behind her as Alistair’s arm bound her. 

“Far from the Maker, aren’t you, pup?” Alistair’s voice now had a mutant growl to it. Astrid screamed and struggled. She darted her eyes up, trying to see him. From her periphery, she could see that the head that towered behind her was no longer Alistair at all, but that of a sickening, gore covered demon’s. 

“CALANDRIEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Astrid shrieked.

Somewhere else in a distant part of the Fade was the elven woman, completely oblivious to the cry of her friend. She had also found herself being tossed unpleasantly into the vast wasteland of bizarre trees and rock formations and she coughed as the dusty wind whipped at her. Glancing around at her surroundings, she was distressed to find that Astrid was nowhere to be seen. The Keeper had warned them they would likely arrive separate from each other, but his cautions did not make her feel any more prepared. Instead, she felt gripped with fear that something terrible might happen to Astrid, the woman who was so unfamiliar with magic and all its intricacies. Calandriel felt she could never forgive herself if something bad were to befall her companion. Bringing Astrid here was her idea, and it would all be her fault if she died or became trapped within this nightmare realm. With this thought in mind, she pulled herself up, dusted off the shimmering velvet of her robes, and began searching. 

The wind here was bitingly cold and dry and it made the going rather slow. Her robes flapped and billowed behind her and she leaned on her staff for support as she walked against it. She shivered at the howling sound it made as it snaked its way through the spindly branches above. She could sense that she was going in the right direction, though she didn’t know how. There was no sun or moon to judge which direction went what way, nor any kind of markers to indicate where she was.   
Even the landscape seemed to be constantly shifting and would make navigating back this way an impossibility. 

After meandering for some time, she realized she was ascending a slight incline. The wind died down the higher she climbed and the air grew gradually warmer. At the crest of the acclivity, she froze in her tracks. She could hear a familiar voice. No. She strained her pointed ears. Two familiar voices. And the sound of violins intertwining over a steady rhythm. It all sounded so close, though the withered trees around her made it sound simultaneously far off. Feeling relieved that she was not alone, she crept between the thin trunks until they tapered off into a clearing. 

She peered around one of the trees and spied two figures in the throes of some passionate act. One was lying shirtless on his back in the wildflower-dotted grass, his head tossed back, white hair askew. In his hand he clutched a bottle of what appeared to be red wine. Straddled atop him was another man, his hair and skin all gold and bronze, and wearing a leather skirt. Calandriel blinked in disbelief as she watched the man on top lower himself to kiss the one who was lying down. He tucked his cascade of long yellow hair behind a pointed ear, giving her a full view of their lips pressing together urgently. The music in her ears rose and fell as an accompaniment to the scene; acoustic guitar and cellos mingled beneath the soaring violin. It was beautiful and made her burn with sudden desire. She must not have been able to completely silence her titillation, though, because the two men gently broke apart and turned their attentions toward her hiding place. Zevran--for of course it was him--stood up, smiling. Fenris sat up and rested on his elbows, looking nonchalant as if he’d known the entire time that she had been there. She couldn’t help but notice the way in which his leather pants were unbuttoned and her gaze lingered there for much longer than was necessary. 

“Moonflower,” Zevran’s voice called to her, snapping her back to the present. “We were waiting for you to join us!” He reached out a hand invitingly. “Come out from there and let us give you all that you desire.”

Calandriel hesitated but did as he requested. Transfixed, she stepped out from behind the tree and came closer to the two men, compelled by the steady rhythm of the music that seemingly came from out of nowhere. 

“But you look so tense, my dear!” Zevran said with concern.

“I felt the same way,” Fenris’s low growl chimed in. “Until I tried this wine. Why don’t you have some of it?”

She had to admit that the warrior looked strangely languid compared to his usual rigidity. He didn’t seem perturbed whatsoever that he had just been caught being sexually intimate with another man. Nor did he seem to care that she could clearly see the swelling beneath his black undergarment where his leather pants would normally be fastened. 

Zevran took her by the hand and with some effort, she peeled her eyes away again from the Tevinter warrior. Zevran’s touch was uncharacteristically cold. Normally he felt as warm as the sands of Antiva, though she supposed that he must have just come from the bitter windswept landscape that she had. Yes, that would explain it. She was still slightly chilled herself, despite the heady warmth of the clearing they were in. With Zevran’s assistance, she sat down beside Fenris, who offered her the bottle of wine he was holding. She took it reluctantly and lifted it up to her lips, though she paused before drinking. Instead, she discreetly sniffed its contents before lowering it without consuming a drop. It did not smell like wine. It smelled like poison. 

The expression on Fenris’s face betrayed his true nature as she recoiled from him, dropping the bottle. Realization sank in. This was the Fade. These were not real people. It was all a facade and she had just come dangerously close to succumbing to its evil. If she had come so close to being tricked, how must Astrid be faring? Astrid.

“She is already failing,” the demon who had previously been Zevran croaked. 

“She will be ours for eternity, as will you,” said the one posing as Fenris, his voice shifting from the warrior’s monotone to something frightening and warped. Abruptly, the music in her ears halted and was replaced by the shrieking bitter wind once again. The two figures dissolved like grains of sand into its harsh gale and she was alone once again. 

“CALANDRIEL!!!!!” came another familiar voice. 

“ASTRID!!!!!” she called back. Gathering up her robes against the wind, she pressed forward. Where her feet touched the earth, the wildflowers wilted into dead things. She broke into a run, following the sound of the voice. 

Desperately, she scurried through the forest of diseased trees until she stumbled upon the place where Astrid was being held captive. The demon wheeled around when it sensed her presence, but she was too quick. There would be no more tricks, she told herself. “This ends here,” she affirmed, quickly channeling a bolt of lightning at the creature, causing it to lose its hold on the rogue woman and her daggers. 

Astrid tumbled out of the way, rolling deftly despite the terror she felt on the inside. As she sprang back up closer to Calandriel, she pulled a knife from her boot, which she had previously been unable to access in the demon’s grip. 

The foul creature regained itself, and tossed its head back in deep, echoing laughter. The tone of it seemed to cut right into their very souls, making the women question momentarily what their purpose was. Its sharp fangs glistened in the pallid light as it smiled at them. They were frightening to behold, and yet the full, sensuous lips that framed them made the grin surprisingly alluring. 

“Stop!” Calandriel shouted, shaking off the feelings of doubt she had.

“Stop what, pray tell?” The demon spoke. Its voice came out as many voices speaking in unison. Calandriel thought she could hear Fenris. To Astrid, the voice of Alistair stood out. “Stop making dreams come true? Stop giving joy to the mundaneness of the waking world?” The demon laughed again and spun in an elegant circle. It was mesmerizing to watch. “I exist only to give you what you desire. What is so wrong with that?”

Astrid glanced nervously at Calandriel, who spoke. “You prey upon the living. That’s what’s wrong!” she said angrily. “You give people what they want just long enough that you can take everything away from them. It isn’t real!”

Anger flashed in the demon’s golden eyes before it spun itself around again. This time, it whirled close to her, only inches away, and materialized into the form of Fenris once again. It spoke with his voice, sounding hurt. “Are your feelings for me not real?” 

Calandriel attempted to hit the false Fenris with her staff, but it floated away to Astrid, taking on Alistair’s visage and vocals this time. “Astrid, don’t you want to be with me? We can live together in a castle, have a kennel for all our mabari. And that Gil who hurt you so badly can be my manservant. I’ll make him lick my boots.”

The demon leaned in, attempting to plant a kiss, but Astrid wouldn’t allow it. Alistair would never make such a suggestion. She swung an uppercut with the knife and slashed, grazing the knight’s chest. But instead of bleeding, the creature just transformed into itself horned self once again, clutching at the place where it had been cut, and seething. 

“All I ever did was give you mortals what you want!” the demon boomed. “The Keeper wanted to avenge his wife, so I did it for him. I sent my ghouls to haunt the humans that killed her. I drove them mad and took their souls. I gave him the solace that he sought, and this is how he repays me? We made a bargain!”

The Keeper had done this? Calandriel and Astrid processed the same thought. “But you gave him more than he bargained for,” the elf said. 

“He told me to eliminate the murderers, but a deal goes both ways,” the demon hissed. “I don’t work for free. The Keeper thought I could survive off the souls of the killers--that that would be enough--but I thrive on desire, not death. I did what he asked of me, but I also took what I deserved. Those pitiful Dalish are full of desires! Wanting to take back the Dales and get their petty revenge on the humans. Their souls are some of the tastiest I’ve ever devoured!” 

So the Keeper had struck a deal with the demon, but he had had no idea what the repercussions might be, as was usually the case when one makes a deal with a devil. 

Calandriel felt the anger rise as the beast insulted her people. She took that rage and channeled it into a spell, sending a blast of ice to encase the creature. “ENOUGH!”

Astrid reacted swiftly, throwing the knife that she held into the glacial covering. As it struck, one of the demon’s arms and the ice that coated it shattered like glass. A fissure broke across the rest of the icy shell and broke away as the demon exploded with fury. As it did so, the rogue woman hastily snatched up the daggers it had taken from her earlier and flanked the creature from behind. 

The desire demon roared deafeningly, losing all its previous seductiveness, and swooped toward Calandriel, barrelling a spell at her with its remaining arm. She dodged out of the way as Astrid’s blades dug into the creature’s back, sending it howling with pain. It turned its attentions on her, but Calandriel was ready with another ice spell. The demon froze once again, this time facing the rogue woman, its features distorted by the crystalline protrusions of the ice that held it in place. Despite its warped appearance, Astrid could see her mark clear as day and she struck the final blow, driving a dagger deep into the demon’s heart. It broke into a thousand jagged pieces, pelting the women with icy shards that cut at their faces, leaving tiny wounds. The impact knocked them backward and took the breath right out of their lungs. 

They sat panting in disbelief as the bits of ice around them slowly melted away, though there was no trace left of the demon. They became aware once again of the shrieking wind that stung the cuts on their faces and gave each other a look that said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” Calandriel, exhausted from the expenditure of mana, scooted closer to the rogue woman, whose golden curls were flapping against her face and hiding the expression of weariness that she wore. The elf gripped her hand, closed her eyes, and searched for memories of the Dalish camp. It was difficult to grasp the thoughts in her mind. She heard so many voices inside her head, begging her to stay where she was. That, combined with her tiredness, made concentration nearly impossible. She closed her eyes tighter, and clutched Astrid’s hand more firmly, willing her mind to find some semblance of the living world. In the blackness of her thoughts, she saw a faint glow, the color of aquamarine. As she stretched her mind toward it, it became a ribbon of glittering light and she could faintly smell vanilla. Fenris. She followed the path of lyrium in her mind, knowing it was the right way, and soon she and Astrid were being catapulted back into the waking world.


	33. Back to Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astrid and Calandriel awaken from their time in the Fade. Calandriel feels compelled to follow Fenris. Astrid must clear her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEXUAL TENSION

“I think she’s waking up!” came a panicked voice in Astrid’s ears. “Astrid? Astrid?? Can you hear me? Oh Maker, _please_ wake up!” The woman clenched her eyelids tightly before popping them open. The ceiling above her slowly shifted into focus as her eyes adjusted to the dim firelight. She was suddenly aware of how hot she was. Her neck was drenched with sweat where her hair had come loose and clung to her skin. She tried to say something, but her throat was too parched. Attempts at sitting up were also a difficulty. Every bone in her body felt sore as though she’d just run clear across all of Thedas. She struggled despite the pain and managed to pull herself into a seated position. There was a shuffling sound and she became aware of someone kneeling beside her. “Alistair?” she said softly, his features materializing in her bleary vision. He stared back at her, lips parted slightly, and eyebrows inclined in a look of concern. His square chin was decorated with fine golden stubble and his sandy hair looked tousled as though he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly. Clearly he had not been taking care of himself. But how long had it been? 

Reading her mind, he responded. “You’ve been gone two whole days! I thought you’d never return.” Astrid noted the glassiness of his eyes as he leaned in to embrace her. She was grateful for his gentleness but could sense how badly he wanted to just squeeze her and never let go. She felt the same and wrapped her sore limbs around him. Finally, he eased back and rested a hand on either of her shoulders, looking at her as though he’d never seen her before. “But you must be thirsty!” he said suddenly, jumping up and returning with a cup of water. She took it and drained the cold, refreshing contents. It seemed to revitalize her and restore her mind to the present. “Where is Calandriel?” she cast her eyes around the circular room and found what she was looking for. 

The elven woman was propped against Fenris, who sat with his back to a support beam within the birchwood structure. She appeared to be sleeping, her eyes closed, and her chest rising and falling comfortably. Fenris, in stark contrast, looked disheveled. His face was more gaunt than usual, his chiseled cheeks hollow, his eyes ringed with darkness. Unlike Calandriel, his eyes were open, and Astrid guessed that they had been throughout the entire trial. He didn’t seem to notice her gaze, though, as his eyes were set intently upon the woman he held in his arms. Astrid continued to scan the room and saw the Keeper looming in the shadows across from the central fire.

He quickly sashayed across the room in large strides, the gems on his robe glittering in the firelight. He bent to get a better look at Astrid, his expression eager. “Did you succeed?”

Alistair crouched on Astrid’s other side, putting an arm around her protectively and taking her left hand in his. 

The woman regarded the Keeper carefully. This man was the entire reason for their venture into the Fade in the first place. He had caused the Dalish so much fear and death and anguish. He had caused her the physical pain that she was in now. “We defeated the demon,” she said resolutely. 

The Keeper’s face broke into a smile. “Wonderful,” he said softly, lifting himself up once again. He closed his eyes, feeling relief that his secret would never be exposed. 

“But we know the truth,” Astrid said, unwilling to let him off the hook. She watched as the elven lord’s face shifted from release to alarm. Beside her, Alistair looked thoroughly confused. “It was you that unleashed this madness in the first place. It was _you_ that made a deal with the desire demon.” 

The Keeper stared back at her in disbelief, unable to say anything.

“Is this true?” Alistair asked, drawing himself up from the floor. “ _You’re_ the reason we’ve all been in so much danger? All this time, you wouldn’t help us with the Blight, and yet we’ve been helping _you,_ you… _betrayer!?_ ” His voice grew angry. 

Astrid shifted to her knees and managed to pull herself into a standing position, despite the ache of her muscles. She was angry too. They had wasted so much time that could have been dedicated to ending the Blight. She drew a blade from her back threateningly, though the Keeper did not cower away. Instead, he sighed sadly. 

“Kill me if you must,” he said, turning away from them. “It is more than I deserve.” 

“Tell us why you did it,” Alistair spat. Astrid knew what the demon had said, but she wanted to hear from the Keeper too. 

The Keeper sighed again, defeated. He dropped into the ornately carved chair on the other side of the fire and spoke slowly, his eyes transfixed on the flickering flames. “My wife was… beautiful. She was more beautiful than all the Dales or the palaces of man combined. Her voice was silver-wrought, her hair a raiment of night sky. Her dance could stop wars, and her hands could comfort the sickliest of children. I was… distraught… when they took her away from me. She was so young, and had never done any wrong in this world. She even advocated for the humans. She taught the Dalish to befriend them, not to hate them. Her love is what brought about her downfall. She left the safety of the camp to seek out the humans. To bridge the gap between our worlds. But they killed her.” He paused as a single tear rolled down his cheek, leaving the skin glistening in the firelight. “I could never forgive myself for losing her. I tried everything to bring her back, to no avail. Finally when I realized there was nothing I could do to return her to this world, my heart grew angry. I desired revenge. It consumed my every waking moment, even creeping into my dreams... That is where the demon found me. It told me it would eliminate my wife’s murderers and that I would finally be at peace. But that was a lie. I don’t feel any peace at all, and now I am responsible for the death of even more of my clansmen. The only peace for me would be death.” He hung his head, and for the first time, all his regalia seemed stripped away and he appeared to be just a man. 

Astrid listened to the story, her hold on the hilt of her knife becoming progressively looser. Justice dictated that the man must die, though her heart suggested otherwise. 

“We can arrange that for you,” Alistair said, drawing his sword and taking a step toward the Keeper. He ceased, though, when a voice called out. 

“Spare him.” It was Calandriel. She had pulled herself up with Fenris’s assistance and strode toward Alistair, laying a hand on his arm. She was surprisingly steady, despite feeling as painfully sore as her companion. 

“But why?” Alistair asked incredulously, though he lowered his weapon all the same. 

“Make him atone for his mistakes.” She walked over to the Keeper and knelt beside him. “Give us your word that the elves will aid us in the Blight, and you will live. You will find peace knowing that you have saved thousands of lives. Isn’t that what your wife would have wanted?”

More tears streamed down the Keeper’s cheeks now as he turned to her, cupping a hand gently to her face. “You remind me so much of her,” he said, smiling sadly. “You have my word. I will call Samahl to draw up a contract and we will all sign it in the morning. For now, I believe rest is in order.” 

“I trust my services are no longer needed, Keeper,” Fenris’s formality rose on the surface of escalating anger.

Before the Keeper could respond, they could only see Fenris’s back as he exited the hut. His absence left Calandriel feeling strangely empty. Ignoring the Keeper calling after her, Calandriel followed in Fenris’s wake. He had a long stride and was already on the wood path that led to the base of the hill outside the camp.

“Fenris!” Calandriel called after him, surprised at the volume of her own voice when she felt so physically weak. If he had heard her, though, he made no indication of it. He was about twenty yards ahead of Calandriel, ascending the steepening path. Calandriel grabbed two fistfuls of her robes to reduce her chance of tripping. She had left so quickly she had forgotten her staff. The sturdy staff always served as a solid walking stick in addition to its magical purposes. Fenris was nearly out of sight as the path curved up the hill. Calandriel could hear the sound of water falling and she knew she was close to his camp site. All the same, she quickened her step. Using her elven light footing to avoid slipping, she trekked up the hill. As she reached the summit, she caught up with Fenris, who stooped near the pool at the base of the waterfall. His back was to her as he scooped water onto his face and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Fenris!” Calandriel called out again, or attempted to. Climbing the hill left her winded with a stitch in her side. Fenris turned to her, finishing his ablutions with one more mop of his hand across his face. He stared at her and slowly shook his head in a “no” motion. He may have been cautioning her, but Calandriel walked right up to him. 

With an exaggerated roll of his large green eyes, Fenris groaned. “What? What do you want? Do you want to go back to the Fade, is that it?!”

Alarmed by his outburst, Calandriel stepped back. “I, I wanted to see if you were alright.” Calandriel stammered. Why was she here? She suddenly felt strange for following him all the way to his campsite when he clearly wished to be alone. 

Fenris spread his arms out on either side in mock invitation for Calandriel to examine him. “Everything’s in good order. My lyrium should be back at normal levels by morning, but I’ll be gone by then so don’t bother.” His low voice was cruel and cutting. Dropping his arms, Fenris strode over to his tent. He picked up a canvas backpack off of the ground and stepped inside the tent.

“I don’t care about the lyrium.” Calandriel called after him. She had been standing still a few moments now, but her face flushed and heart raced as though she were still running up the hill. 

Fenris burst forth from behind the tent flap. He still held the backpack in one hand and was stuffing a garment of some sort into it violently. “Of course you don’t!” Fenris spat. “Now that you’re back after hours in the Fade, bringing justice to demons and leaving none for the traitorous Keeper.” He leaned the pack against the outside of the tent and circuited around the site, picking up small objects he had left outside and tossing them in. 

“Is that what this is about? The Keeper… living?” Calandriel asked him, now incredulous. Was this stern warrior really so hot headed?

“How many elves died because of his selfishness?!” Fenris exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. He paced in front of her back and forth. 

“How many might yet live now with the demons gone? And how many more if the elven host defends the Dalish civilians against the darkspawn?” Calandriel retorted.

Fenris, who had started to pick up a log from a stack near his tent, pointed at her. The backpack still sat unfastened, but he was now working on a campfire apparently. His attempts at busying himself were thwarted by his anger and nerves.

“What if it had been your parents killed by demons and you knew he brought their deaths?” Fenris dropped the log into an ashy pile in front of his tent with a thud. 

“We could argue ethics all day. Why are you leaving? There is still so much yet to do.” Calandriel walked over to his meager wood pile and picked up a stick, tossing it next to the log in the ashes. 

Fenris sucked in his full lower lip anxiously. “I came here to help the elves being possessed and killed by demons. I need to go help others of my race elsewhere.”

“Alone?” Calandriel asked, raising a silver eyebrow at him. 

“Why should I be beholden to you Grey Wardens?” Fenris asked, equally as skeptical. His tone was softer than before, though, kinder. 

“You shouldn’t be. You have done us a great favor by providing your… abilities. Thank you.” Calandriel said, hoping she sounded sincere. She meant it. But for some reason, she felt she was pleading with him, trying to prevent him leaving. 

“But what?” Fenris asked. “Clearly you still want something or else you wouldn’t be here.” Fenris now knelt next to the logs and kindling, arranging it in a tent of wood. 

Calandriel heaved a sigh. “Your skills as a warrior are unmatched from what I saw the other night. And this is selfish, but we could use a fighter like that. But that’s not all. Fenris, you’re so… honorable.”

And then Calandriel was even more surprised because Fenris laughed. She didn’t even know if she had ever seen him smile, let alone laugh. His laugh sputtered out like a cough or a sneeze. 

“Me? Honorable? I think you need to go back and rest at the camp, Calandriel, because you’re still having delusions.” Fenris said as he struck flint to some dry leaves he had placed with the kindling. Hearing him say her name made Calandriel’s stomach tickle. 

“I mean it.” Calandriel said. “You stick with your principles, saving elves, avenging yourself by helping others. It’s admirable. And it makes for a fearsome enemy to the darkspawn. And Loghain, for that matter.”

Fenris nodded, prodding at the flickering leaves with a stick. “You admire my principles, and yet I can’t fathom why you allow someone who has committed a heinous crime to live.”

“Forgiveness and mercy are principles just as important as justice, are they not?” Calandriel asked him, standing on the other side of the camp fire. 

“Like you show forgiveness and mercy to Zevran?” Fenris asked sharply, avoiding her gaze by staring into the fire. Calandriel’s jaw dropped. Stunned for a moment, she took a breath to recover.

“What are you talking about?” Calandriel asked, feigning a casual tone. 

Fenris ignored her question. “If you had the slightest idea of what I’ve been through, you’d know that there is no forgiveness or mercy in my heart. Forgiveness is wasted on those who don’t deserve it. For me, there is only vengeance and loyalty.” He still stared at the flames in a daze. It almost looked like he was talking to himself. Calandriel was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. She stepped back.

“Think on it. Some of us… Wardens would be grateful to have you join us. Otherwise, I wish you luck, Fenris. Goodbye.” Without waiting for a response, Calandriel turned away from him and started to head back down to the camp. She had to fight every urge in her body not to turn back around and look at Fenris. It was growing dark, so she tried to make it through the wooded trail as quickly as possible. The demons were gone, but she could not shake her sense of uneasiness after speaking to Fenris. 

Back at the camp, the evening fires were also being built and tended. Zevran sat in front of the landship he and Calandriel shared, sharpening his arrowheads with his boot knife. The sky was dark, but with the firelight and his keen eyes, he could see a figure emerge from the woods at the far end of the camp. A purple robed figure returning from the Wolf’s den on the hill.

* * *

“The best way to beat training fatigue is to go for a run. When you rest for too long, your muscles smart all the worse!” Astrid recalled her older brother, Fergus, teasing her once as she arrived to a training session half asleep. She felt the same achy lethargy now in the Keeper’s hut. As glad as she was to be alive and safe, her fingers itched for something to do, some activity to occupy her mind and body. The whole business with the Keeper was so maddening, she couldn’t stand to be in his presence any longer. 

“I’m going to... fetch some water.” Astrid said to the Keeper. Alistair had gone to speak to Samahl and begin to discuss military plans for the Blight. Before she could step out of the hut, the Keeper lay a hand on Astrid’s forearm. She tried not to recoil at his touch. He was just a man who had lost his love. What would she give to have her family back?

“Lady Cousland, however you feel about me, I know that the people of this camp will be very glad of the news about the demon being gone. I hope you enjoy one final night here in the forest before you continue your campaign.” The Keeper’s voice was raw with fatigue. He had probably been awake the whole time they had been in the Fade. 

“I thank you.” Astrid said with stiff politeness. She inclined her head slightly before she left the hut. 

Just outside the hut there was a central square of the encampment where the trade elves had stalls. There also sat crates, burlap sacks, and other containers of communal supplies. Astrid found two large earthenware jugs attached to a yoke by rope that were empty. Everyone always had need of water, no matter what time of day. If any revelry were to happen this night, it would also be wise to have water on hand for the next morning. 

Astrid lifted the yoke over her shoulders. Her shoulders and biceps tensed and flexed, but the ache was sweet. It felt good to use her arms after being unconscious for so long. Coming back from the Fade still gave Astrid an uneasy feeling. She was so close to never returning. There was so much yet to be done. They had not made any major attack on the darkspawn to speak of, hadn’t yet gone to apply for aid at the Circle Tower or in Redcliffe, and she knew deep down she wanted to find Fergus, or any other survivors from Highever. Walking slowly so the jugs didn’t swing too much, Astrid found the small stream that trickled all the way down the large hill where Fenris made camp. The great waterfall that fell onto the hill from above cascaded down the slopes to the camp, where a small but steady stream ran alongside. It was about three feet deep in the center, and before she realized what she was doing, Astrid was setting down the jugs on the muddy banks.

The past two days had left her mouth feeling dry and stale. She knew her hair was greasy and she didn’t want to think about the rest of her body. She peeled off her sweat-sticky bracers and unlaced her leathers. It was a brisk night, but she quickly stepped into the icy stream and crouched down to submerge herself. The water surrounded her, waking her. Her heart pumped faster to circulate warm blood throughout her body. When she emerged, Astrid felt like a new person. 

_If I go to the Fade again, or meet darkspawn, I want to know I’ve done everything I could for the Wardens, for the Couslands, and for myself._ Astrid felt ashamed of how easily she’d been fooled in the Fade. She would do her best to prevent anything like that happening again. _And not without telling Alistair._ Astrid thought. Resolute, she stepped up the bank, practicing throwing some punches and kicks to dry off. When she was dry, she pulled her clothes back on, but left her long, snaking golden hair loose. She filled the jugs with the crisp, clear water from the stream and heaved them up again. Astrid walked back to the central hub of the camp with more conviction than she had felt in some time. 

The evening fires were just being lit. Astrid unburdened herself of the fresh water by lowering the yoke near the central square where she had found it. Word had spread that the demons had been vanquished and more elves were out of their landships than had been in some time. Even children, who normally would be in bed by now, were running around in play. She smiled and nodded at the cheers and gratitude directed at her. Astrid did not see the Keeper among the elves, though she was not surprised. She didn’t know if anyone else knew of his betrayal, but she wasn’t about to start another conflict tonight. This Dalish clan wished to truly celebrate, without fear. Work tables and benches had all been brought out again as they had the night of the demon attack a few days ago. Astrid saw a small crowd of men and women gathered near the long table where the Keeper would have been seated. Astrid wondered if Calandriel was also receiving such attention.

As she approached the group, though, she saw the faces of Cirian and Trevar, the young men she had spoken to before. The other men and women around her were dressed in hunting leathers, some dyed in greens and golds for camouflage. In the center of the throng was an elf with long brown hair, whose ponytail was ragged and on the verge of coming undone. He was dirty and gaunt, as though he had just returned from a long journey. Cirian met Astrid’s eyes and ran up to her.   
“Benniam is back! He’s come back after all this time!” the young elf cried in excitement. 

“So he probably was possessed then,” Astrid replied quietly, almost to herself. She turned her head back to regard the prodigal widowed hunter, Benniam. He looked happy but weary as he related his tale to eager listeners. 

“Just a few hours ago, it was as if I had awoken from a dream,” his voice was a pleasant treble, despite his fierce hunter appearance. “I realized I was walking in the far reaches of the West Forest. I wasn’t even on the trail, just tramping through the brush and branches.” Benniam still looked surprised, even fearful of his state when he had come to consciousness. 

“Did you feel… a demon?” Trevar, the dark haired young elf Astrid had also met, asked.

“No!” Benniam replied. “I just... remember when I was first out, with Cirian and Trista, that I heard--I heard Lenora’s voice.” Benniam choked at the mention of his deceased wife’s name. Everyone around him bowed their heads momentarily in remembrance. Benniam straightened his neck and continued. “I followed her voice until I found her. Or what I thought was her. This false Lenora was so sweet at first, I was overjoyed. But over time, she would do things or speak in a different voice than my Lenora did. But I hoped so much that it was her that I kept following the voice until I found her, relishing the few moments of time I could get with her. I must have been gone for weeks.” Benniam recalled his tale to the crowd. Cirian looked overjoyed to see his hunting companion back. 

As he trailed off, Benniam saw Astrid standing near Cirian. “I don’t recognize you. Are you one of the Grey Wardens who saved our clan?” Benniam asked. Several other elves looked back at Astrid, curiosity piqued. The Keeper had not left the hut and Calandriel had gone after Fenris. The elves of the camp only had heard Alistair’s secondhand version of the demon tale. Astrid, however, had other things on her mind.

“I am but one. It was the mage Calandriel you should thank, the silver haired one. Can’t miss her. Oh, and Fenris. If you all will excuse me.” Astrid, uncomfortable with the attention, awkwardly stepped away. As she circulated the camp, she saw Calandriel sitting with Morrigan, Oghren, and Zevran. She would catch up with Calandriel later. When there was more to tell.


	34. Noncelibate Celebrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astrid and Alistair enjoy some much-needed alone time. The companions engage in one final celebration with the Dalish before preparing to set off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE MOMENT WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!
> 
> Chapter title is a working title. Haha I really am not sure what we should call this one. Same goes for some earlier chapters. They will need revising one day.

At last, Astrid found Alistair sitting at a table across from Samahl. They had maps and paper strewn before them and appeared to be deep in conversation. She didn’t mind interrupting these two. She outstretched a confident hand and tapped Alistair on the shoulder. He turned around, surprised. Surprise melted into a smile at the sight of her. Astrid’s hair was still wet and clung to her face and neck in thick waving strands. 

“I need to talk to you.” Astrid said firmly. Alistair looked over at Samahl, who was either studying or pretending to study a map in great detail. 

“Can it wait? Samahl and I are almost finished discussing the Dalish cavalry. I promise I will find you at the fire later.” Alistair spoke softly as he looked up at Astrid. Her brown eyes were pools of darkness, wide with emotion. She shook her head.

“It can’t wait. Come.” Astrid said, a new insistence in her voice. She held out her hand. Alistair exhaled through his nose, but didn’t look entirely frustrated. He was glad to have Astrid back, and he knew she wouldn’t unnecessarily interfere without good cause. Clearing his throat, Alistair turned back to Samahl. 

“Will you be awake later this evening, Samahl?” Alistair asked the Dalish elf. 

“Of course. Too much to do now that the demons aren’t our biggest threat.” Samahl said amiably. “I think I get the idea of what you’ll need.”

Alistair shook Samahl’s hand as he rose from the wooden table. As he stood up, Astrid grabbed the same hand and squeezed, immediately walking to the other side of the camp. 

“What’s this about? Can you tell me now?” Alistair asked Astrid. He looked at her sidelong and saw the hint of a smile on her full lips. 

“Soon enough. I want to get away from all the peering eyes and flapping ears.” Astrid said.

“I’m telling all of the Dalish elves you said that.” Alistair joked. Astrid’s hair was beginning to dry into fluffy blonde ringlets. 

Astrid waved her free hand in dismissal. “You _know_ what I meant. Hurry up.” Astrid broke free from Alistair’s grasp and started to jog ahead.

“You seem to have recovered well! Astrid, wait for me!” Alistair called after her. 

Astrid ran on, the pink nug skin straps of her leather skirt flapping with each stride. She finally approached the land ship she and Alistair had claimed. Astrid scrambled in. Hurrying as much as she could, she found her traveling pack and fished out flint and a rock, and digging deeper, the small glass bottle Calandriel had given her aboard the Siren’s Call. How long ago that seemed. Far too long. Astrid fumbled with the flint to light a small earthenware oil lamp inside the _aravel_. She had sprinted, but Alistair would catch up soon. Finally a spark caught on the oily wick of the lamp, which now emitted a soft yellow glow. 

“Astrid, what in the Maker’s name are you playing at?” Astrid heard a winded Alistair tramping up to the entrance of the land ship. Astrid quickly pulled the stopper out of the bottle filled with pink shimmering liquid. _Hope you’re right, Calandriel,_ Astrid thought as she tipped the bottle to her lips. Just a small drop of the liquid ran down Astrid’s tongue. It was bitter at first and then mint-sweet. She hastily stoppered the bottle again and tossed it into her bag just before Alistair stepped inside. He crouched through the entrance and needed to duck his head so it wouldn’t hit the ceiling. In the soft flickering light, Astrid saw that his hair, normally impeccable, was still messy and he had a day’s worth of stubble on his face. His brown eyes bored into hers in question. Thinking about it, Astrid had acted rather strangely. 

“Alistair, in the Fade, the demon tricked me right away. I was at its mercy and would have… I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Calandriel.” Astrid blurted. She stood next to the small table where the oil lamp rested. Alistair swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing noticeably. He had thought the same thing, then. He stepped closer to her and took her hand in his. Astrid continued.

“I can’t stop thinking about all the things I haven’t said and done. You know, if I had died. Alistair, I care for you so much.” Astrid grabbed Alistair’s other hand.

“Astrid, these past two days have been… well, I don’t know what I’d do if, if that happened. Is this what you wanted to tell me, then?” Alistair bent his head down to look into Astrid’s eyes. Suddenly, Astrid tipped up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. He bent his head down to press into her, taking his hands from hers to hold her head. Astrid parted her mouth to take him, to taste him. The bitter herb and mint on her tongue mingled with the cold beery taste on Alistair’s. Astrid felt him raking his hands through her still damp hair. She broke from his kiss and met his gaze again. 

She touched her nose to his and whispered, “Alistair, will you have me?” Alistair widened his eyes and furrowed his brows. “You mean, like, all the way?” He whispered back. Astrid nodded silently. 

Alistair took his hand from her hair and ran it through his own. He stepped back, staring at his feet. 

“Astrid, I care for you so much, too. Whenever I think about this, I feel like a bumbling idiot, all hands. I wish I could be better at this… I want it to be right.” Alistair was now nervously fidgeting at the studs on his sleeves. 

“You have proven yourself _more_ than capable so far. Honestly, I feel a little nervous, too. I don’t want to… disappoint you on your first time.” Astrid cast her eyes down, the confidence she had been feeling moments before now fading. 

Alistair grabbed Astrid’s shoulders. “Astrid, you could _never_ disappoint me. You are radiant and rather… fierce tonight. If you are willing to, I am quite happy to get the better end of this deal.” Alistair smiled at his lady shyly. 

“Is that a challenge?” Astrid asked, returning the joke. She wrapped her hands around his neck.

“Oh, Maker. I think I have enough to worry about, I can’t imagine competing.” Without further words, he bent down to kiss her again. It was slow and sweet as their last kiss had been. Alistair drew her in a tight embrace. His scent surrounded her, male and leathery with a faint trace of roses in his hair. Astrid felt intoxicated by it. She was pressed up against him, felt his arms wrapped around her, but it wasn’t enough. While entwined and locked in a kiss, Astrid took Alistair’s bottom lip between hers, savoring the rasp of his unshaved chin. She bit down on its fullness with her teeth. Alistair pulled her damp hair from her neck and kissed it and teased it with his tongue. When he reached the base of her neck, he bit down as she had. Astrid gasped in pleasure.

She was on one track now and tugged at Alistair’s leather and mail jerkin. The whole thing had so many straps and fastenings that she needed his help to remove it. Forearms, elbow guards, pauldrons, piece by piece they pulled off until his arms and torso were bare. Astrid ran her hands over his chest, admiring the hard muscle beneath the golden hairs that covered him all the way down to his waistline, where they grew thicker. He still wore his boots, pants, and belt and leather piece which protected his more delicate parts. Astrid’s hands went to his waist hungrily, ready to continue the unfastenings.

“Not so fast.” Alistair said, grabbing her small wrist easily in his hand. He brought his own hands to Astrid’s left hand. She still wore her glove-like bracers laced up her forearm. Slowly, he pulled the laces free, bringing her fingers up to his lips to kiss. He removed the other wrist bracer in the same way and then set to work on Astrid’s leather bodice. He began to untie the leather laces from the soft nug skin bodice. As the laces came free, so did Astrid. Since bathing in the stream, she had not put anything else back on underneath her leathers. Her large fruits of breasts pressed against the laces until they jiggled free with a tug. Stopping momentarily, Alistair grabbed them. He felt as though he had barely touched Astrid at all since they had been on the ship during that stormy night. He ran a tentative finger over her soft budding nipple. Astrid squeaked and tugged off the bodice, throwing it on the floor. 

She started for Alistair’s breeches, but he pulled back from her. 

“Let me,” he whispered as he grabbed her by the hips and kissed her again on the mouth, deep and slow. He bent down to her breasts and now took one to his lips. The soft and rough combination of his mouth on Astrid’s tingling flesh sent blood pumping throughout her body, downward. His hand grasped the other one, squeezing and tracing lightly with his fingertips. He knelt before her. His mouth still on her, Astrid felt his hands on her hips fingering the side laces of her leather skirt. He tugged them both loose. 

“Let me at least take my boots off!” Astrid cried before he could continue. With all the haste in Thedas, Astrid pulled her boot laces and tugged them off, tossing them aside with a clunk. Alistair laughed as she turned back to stand before him. Slowly, he placed his hands again on the waist of her skirt and pulled it down. Astrid now stood, completely naked in front of him. The oil lamp cast a flickering light and shadows over her voluptuous form. Astrid’s slim waist spilled back out into full hips and a round stomach. Alistair lightly brought his fingers back up her legs to rest on her hips again. 

“Maker’s breath, but you’re beautiful,” he whispered, looking up at all of her. He looked at Astrid every day and often imagined her naked, but it all paled in comparison to the real thing, actually before him. Astrid whispered back, “So are you. From what I’ve seen so far. You might have really ugly legs, though, so let’s have a look,” Astrid giggled as she now finally went to unbutton and unbuckle his leather cup and breeches. Alistair stepped on his own boots to hastily pull them off. Astrid slipped her hand along the soft hairs of Alistair’s stomach into his pants where she felt his warm, hard cock amidst more curls. She touched it lightly and Alistair gasped. Astrid giggled and ran the pads of her fingers up and down the smooth shaft, enjoying its smooth hardness. Alistair snatched her hand back out of his pants and scooped her up bodily, carrying her to the bed in the back of the aravel. He lay her gently on the quilts and climbed on top of her.   
“Come on, let’s see those legs!” Astrid cried, pulling at the waist of his pants again, this time succeeding in pulling them down. Alistair wriggled his knees and calves out of the bottoms. He hovered over her in a hands and knees formation. Astrid briefly ran her hand along his muscled buttocks and hamstrings. He had a soldier’s body, thick and masculine from so much time spent carrying and training with heavy weapons. 

“Your legs are beautiful. Alistair, I want you,” Astrid cried. Alistair lowered down onto her and kissed her, running his hands over her soft flesh. “Astrid,” he whispered into her ear. “Show me how.”

At this, Astrid took hold of his right hand and brought it down between her legs, into her own springing curls. Singling out one of his fingers, she pushed it down to stroke round a few times. 

“Astrid,” Alistair simply said, his breath hot on her ear. She pulled his hand further down until he could feel her, hot and wet with desire. She left his hand to explore her as she brought her own away. “Astrid is this where I,” Alistair asked.

“Yes! Please, Alistair!” Astrid sighed. Alistair lowered down and Astrid could feel him poking at her. He drew himself down to her tight opening and pushed the swollen head just barely in. 

He looked at Astrid in question and she nodded for him to continue. Slowly he slipped into her. Astrid gasped at his girth. Whatever pain she felt soon turned to the pleasure of being filled with him. With a final push, he was completely inside of her and they both yelped in surprise. Alistair’s face contorted in pleasure. 

“Maker, Astrid, you feel amazing.” Astrid wrapped her legs around him and drew him in for a kiss. He pulled back, “Is this, well, how to…?” he asked, having trouble coming up with words. 

Astrid smiled, feeling complete happiness as she told Alistair, “Well, yes. But you can move, like this,” at this, Astrid swiveled her hips, moving Alistair’s hard organ slightly out of her and then pulling back in. Taking a large breath, Alistair began to follow Astrid’s suggestion and pulled out, and thrust back. Each stroke he pulled further until he was completely out and slid his full length into her at once. They went quickly, and then slowly, flesh in and around flesh until they both began to swell from the inside. 

“Alistair!” was all the warning Astrid could give before she began to quiver with delicious contractions. Alistair continued to slide and thrust and a moment later, pushed all the way and began to quiver himself. Astrid felt him trembling within her, his seed spilling hotly into her. 

“Astrid,” he cried, his voice tremulous during his climax. They lay completely still for a few moments, feeling each other breathe and the sensation of still being completely joined together. Suddenly, Alistair lifted his head, his eyes wide in concern.

“Astrid, I should have been more… careful. I wasn’t even thinking, I could get you…” Alistair stammered nervously as he rolled off of her to the side. Astrid stroked his hair in reassurance. “Don’t worry, I thought of that. Calandriel is, well let’s just say she helped me out.” she said. 

“I must thank her,” Alistair sighed, flopping his head back down on the soft bed. After a beat of silence, Astrid spoke. 

“Then let’s go.”

“What?” Alistair asked, propping his head on his hand.

“This is our last night here, let’s go celebrate with the others!” Astrid exclaimed, leaning over to kiss Alistair on the forehead before she got up to dress. She was full of excitement, relief, and love for this beautiful boyish Fereldan. He lazily sat up. 

“If my lady insists.” Alistair chuckled, pulling his pants back on. They slowly dressed, kissing each other’s bodies before they were covered again. Tying the last lace on her boot, Astrid stepped out of the land ship. Alistair stepped after her, his boots making their signature clinking metal sound. 

“Astrid, before we go, I just want to thank you. No one’s ever made me feel this way. I wasn’t… sure it could happen, in fact.” Alistair said, his voice so earnest Astrid could feel her heart swelling all over again. 

“No one has made me feel the way you did, Alistair. Thank you. And you’re welcome, too. Now let’s get some wine to celebrate!” 

The two blonde lovers made their way to the celebration, already love drunk.

They walked hand-in-hand, their cheeks still flushed, their legs wobbly, until they reached the feasting area. It seemed the party was well under way and Astrid wondered what time it was. She had completely lost track between the foray into the Fade and her recent escapade with Alistair. As they approached the head table, no one seemed to pay them any heed. The Dalish were already drunk and resembling dwarves in their actions; talking raucously, passing out, and generally acting ridiculous. Astrid thought they must be celebrating very hard for that to happen. As they made their way through the cacophony, Samahl, calm as ever, approached them. Astrid was surprised to see the commander again so soon. 

“I decided to leave the rather dull planning of battle tactics for the morning,” the elf said, reading her mind. “The party just sounded much too fun! I assure you that you will be pleased with our drink selections this evening as well. The Keeper had us bring out our finest spirits for the occasion. There’s a bar over there.” He gestured to a low table crowded by elves calling for more drinks. “Now if you will excuse me, I must get in on that action…” 

“Let’s grab a seat first,” Astrid said to Alistair, judging the length of the line at the bar. She pulled him by the hand towards the head table. Calandriel sat between Oghren and Zevran, laughing loudly at whatever it was the two men were saying. Oghren was clearly piss-drunk. His wandering eye was already venturing into some distant direction, and several empty tankards were lined up in front of him. 

“Blondies!” Oghren shouted delightedly and slammed the tankard he held in his hand onto the table, effectively knocking over several of the empty ones. “It’s about time ye joined us! We were startin’ to worry.” Clearly he was very drunk. When was Oghren ever so concerned? 

“Yes, yes, Sparkles--that is, Calandriel-- and Assbandit--that is me--have been wondering when the two of you might appear,” said Zevran. He was holding a long fluted glass which seemed to glow from within by its orangey contents.

“What is _that?_ ” Astrid asked as she and Alistair took seats next to him.

“Ah, this. This is a very, very popular Antivan drink called _A Night of Shame_. It is Antivan port with a dash of chocolate bitters and a twist of orange.” He swirled it enticingly. 

“And this,” Calandriel said, raising her glass, “is _The Randy Dowager_. Zevran ordered it for me. It is abyssal peach liquor and fresh cream, garnished with sugared rose petals and served on a silk handkerchief with a scandalous rhyming couplet inked on it by the bartender.”

“The bartender is clearly no Orlesian poet,” Zevran said, handing the napkin over to Astrid, on which the following words were scrawled:

_The night is young, and you’re so beautiful.  
Like husband and wife, let’s get it on and be dutiful._

“This is terrible,” Astrid laughed, handing the napkin back to Zevran. 

“Truly an abomination,” Zevran said, tossing the kerchief over his shoulder. “Though the words are strangely… _applicable_ , are they not?” he said, winking suggestively, and lowering his voice so that only Astrid and Alistair could hear. 

“What are you talking about?” Alistair said, trying to sound nonchalant. 

“Oh, look! The line for the bar has gone down,” Astrid said, leaping out of her seat and making her way down to the drink table. 

With a sly glance at Calandriel and Oghren, who were now doubled over with laughter and clearly distracted, Zevran scooched over into Astrid’s seat so that he and Alistair were close. “There is no hiding it from Zevran,” the elf said.

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alistair said, pretending to be extremely interested in seeing what Astrid was ordering down at the bar. 

“No need to be coy, my friend,” Zevran said. “I am proud of you!” He put an arm around the knight, clapping him on the shoulder companionably as Alistair felt his face grow hot with bashfulness. He did not struggle to get away, though. In fact, in spite of himself, Alistair smiled. 

“See?” Zevran said. “You should not be so ashamed all the time! It feels _good_ , does it not?” 

“Oh, Maker, _yes_ ,” Alistair said, already replaying the image of Astrid in his head. Under normal circumstances, he was uncomfortable by the rogue’s ambiguous sexuality, but he had begun to accept it more and more and now he felt like he wanted to do nothing but talk about what had just happened, to sing it from the rooftops. “I think I understand you a bit more now, Zevran,” the knight chuckled. “But how did you know?”

“Let me tell you something, Alistair,” the elf said with a quick glance back at Calandriel, making sure she wasn’t listening. “I have slept with over a thousand women and men in my lifetime. I know.” He looked down at Astrid, who was now being engaged by a group of young elven men vying for her attention. She looked up at the two of them sitting together at the head table, her eyes suspicious but full of mirth. “It appears your lover will be occupied for some time,” Zevran continued, taking back his arm and swirling his _Night of Shame_ before downing the rest of it. “Now tell me how it went and do not spare the _juicy_ details!” 

Alistair eyed the elf warily but shook his head and chuckled at the clinical look Zevran was giving him. He looked like some kind of medic appraising his patient, ready to take notes and offer advice, which Alistair had no doubt he was intending to do. Normally, Alistair would have to be drunk to discuss such a subject, but having had his belt recently loosened, his tongue seemed to follow suit. He had not felt so relaxed in months and proceeded to tell the tale, making sure to keep his voice low so that the others couldn’t eavesdrop. Here and there, Zevran cut in with questions and tips, which led Alistair to his own questions. “You mean she can put her mouth on my--”

“What are you two talking about?”

Astrid had reappeared, holding a drink in each hand and looking from Alistair to Zevran with amusement. 

Alistair jumped and broke apart from the assassin, grateful for the drink that Astrid thrust into his hand. He hastily took a sip of the spiced pumpkin wine to calm down. 

“Astrid!” came Calandriel’s voice from down the table. She stood up and made her way close to the woman, leaving Oghren to his own drunken devices. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly, I’ve never felt better in my entire life,” the woman said, smiling mischievously and taking a swig of pumpkin wine. 

Zevran gave Alistair a repeated nudge in the arm with his elbow, making the knight giggle uncontrollably. Calandriel arched a white eyebrow at them. Since when were those two such bosom buddies? 

“Let’s get something to eat, shall we? I just realized how hungry I am!” Astrid said tactfully, and the two women made their way to the banquet table. It was laden with a most appetizing spread. There was roasted elk, squash and acorn soup, a pyramid of cheese wheels, wildflower salad, and endless loaves of freshly baked bread. Pillar candles burned throughout the many platters, lighting the food and silver serving trays with an inviting flicker. 

“Oh!! You _have_ to try this!” Calandriel said excitedly, cutting a slice of flaky pastry and handing it to Astrid on a plate. “It’s one of my favorites!”

Astrid took a bite of the pastry and closed her eyes in absolute bliss. Inside the layered crust was a wheel of baked Brie, topped with blackberry preserves. It was warm, sweet, and savory, and Astrid thought it tasted like heaven incarnate. She hummed a noise of complete satisfaction and smiled serenely.

Calandriel laughed at her reaction. “Isn’t it the best?” 

“So good,” Astrid said, filling her mouth with another bite. 

Calandriel loaded up a plate with some of the wildflower salad and topped it with blueberries and a kind of creamy dressing. “So tell me,” she began slyly, “what was that all about with Alistair and Zevran just now?” She saw the color rise to Astrid’s cheeks and encouraged, “come on, no one can hear us!”

Astrid looked around and saw that it was true. Everyone was either at the bar or downing their cups. The food table was completely neglected, which Astrid thought was a shame, but was simultaneously grateful for. “Alistair and I--” she began, unable to contain her excitement any longer, “--we… well, we _did it!_ ” 

“It’s about time!” the elven woman laughed, and Astrid joined her. “But seriously, I’m glad that it finally happened. Did you remember to use the potion I gave you?”

“Yes! Thanks for that,” Astrid said. 

“If you want, you can have my bottle as well,” Calandriel said. “I won’t be needing it any time soon, and well, I imagine you’ll be going through quite a lot of it in the coming days!” She laughed again.

“Does that mean you and Zevran are totally over?” Astrid inquired. 

Calandriel forked at a purple flower on her plate and sighed. “I think so… But I don’t want to talk about _him_ right now.” She glanced up at the head table and felt a pang in her stomach at the sight of Zevran. _Zevran, the beautiful heartbreaker._ She looked back at her friend, smiling. “Tell me more about what happened!”   
Astrid recounted the tale as the two of them hovered over the banquet table, pausing here and there to snack on smoked salmon and cream cheese hors d'oeuvres and other delicacies. Calandriel listened, rapt with attention. “Someday, when this is all over, you should really write a romance novel,” she remarked when the story was finished. 

“If it’s _ever_ over,” Astrid said, coming back to the present. “We still have so much to do.”

“Yes, but we’re getting there.” She gazed out at all the happy elven faces that surrounded them. “Our army is growing, and tomorrow, we’ll be on our way to grow it even more.” As she surveyed the crowd, she realized she was subconsciously looking for a particular white-haired individual who was not present. Catching herself, she turned purposefully back toward Astrid. “Speaking of tomorrow, I should really rest up. Despite having been ‘asleep’ for the past two days, I’m exhausted!” With a hug and the genuine parting words of, “I’m really happy for you,” Calandriel made her way back to her _aravel_. As she walked, she reflected on Astrid’s story with a mixture of excitement for her friend and a sinister feeling of emptiness. While Astrid's love bloomed like a young rose, her own had withered away, leaving behind only thorns. With each step she took, she could feel not only her feet, but also her heart, growing heavier. Tears welled in her eyes as thoughts of Zevran took over, and try as she might to push them out of her mind, she couldn’t. Memories flooded her brain and she felt like turning back, marching into the feast, and proclaiming her forgiveness for him in front of everybody. It would be as if nothing had ever happened. But then she remembered Isabela and reminded herself that something _did_ happen. She felt the tears spilling now and no longer fought to hold them back. 

A sudden noise amongst the trees called her back to the present with fear. She froze and peered into the woods, trying to determine what had caused it. She thought she saw a flash of gossamer, but it was gone in a blink and she questioned whether or not it was just a sliver of light from the nearly-full moon above. A moment later, the wind picked up and rustled the branches and she assumed it had only been a halla. Nevertheless, she picked up her pace and scurried into the _aravel_ , where the fullness of her belly, the comfort of the drink, the exhaustion of her muscles, and the sadness of her thoughts overwhelmed her, and she drifted off into a deep, thankfully dreamless sleep. 

The next day, the companions roused one by one at different times, many of them sleeping late into the morning. Astrid would have liked to have woken up earlier and gotten on the road, but she also didn’t want to leave the warm coziness of the bed that she and Alistair occupied together. The air was very crisp this morning and the shock of the cold against her bare feet as she slipped out of bed was enough to remind her that autumn was getting well under way and that winter would be soon to follow. She hastily pulled on a pair of socks, her boots, and other garments, and gazed longingly at Alistair, who looked so peaceful in his sleep. She didn’t want to disturb him. In fact, what she really wanted was to crawl right back into bed with him and just stay there forever. He stirred and opened his eyes, blinking them into focus before a smile graced his rosebud lips. 

“I can’t imagine a better sight to wake up to,” he said softly. “But what are you doing being up and dressed already?”

“We have to get going. It’s already late, judging by the light,” Astrid said, though she moved closer to the bed at Alistair’s outstretched, beckoning hand. He touched it lightly to her thigh and she felt a yearning ache at his caress. 

“If it’s already late, what’s a few minutes more?” he said, looking up at her innocently, stroking the palm of his hand against her skin. 

Astrid need not respond, because Alistair could plainly read her face. He sat up suddenly and pulled her back into the bed with him, making her shriek with laughter as she pretended to resist his attack. He rolled on top of her, scrabbling to collect her flailing limbs. Finally, he succeeded, and pinned her wrists behind her head. Unable to squirm out of his clutches--and not wanting to--Astrid accepted his kiss eagerly. When they had parted again and she opened her eyes, she could see that the blanket had been cast off, revealing Alistair’s naked, muscular body. He straddled her with one strong leg on either side to hold her in place, but as he leaned back from their kiss, he moved a knee inward and she parted her legs to allow him in. He urged himself forward and she could feel the hard heat of his erection pressing against her.

“Give it to me,” Astrid whispered urgently.

Alistair acquiesced, pushing himself in, slowly at first. 

Astrid bit her lip to keep from crying out at his girth. It felt both painful and pleasurable at the same time, but gradually she felt only the latter sensation as he built up to swifter thrusts. 

“I can’t last long,” Alistair said breathlessly. “You’re too beautiful. I just want to--”

Astrid felt the surge of pleasure rising in her body as Alistair’s face contorted into a look of intense concentration. The waves of ecstasy overcame her just as Alistair filled her with his seed and they both froze in rapturous delight before the knight collapsed on top of her, panting heavily. 

Becoming suddenly aware that he may be crushing her, Alistair rolled sideways and wrapped his arms around her instead, looking directly into her large, brown eyes. The morning light that showed through the canvas of the _aravel_ walls cast them in a bluish filter. “I love you, Astrid,” he said. “I have never felt sure of anything before now. I’ve never felt sure of myself, my past, of becoming a Grey Warden… But I’m sure of my love for you.”

“Alistair,” Astrid said, nuzzling her head into his chest and holding him tighter. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was writing the "morning quickie" scene, I debated on whether or not I would have Astrid take the birth control potion again. I decided it would be too disruptive (much like in real life), so let's just assume that it's good for 24 hours or something.


	35. To the Circle of Magi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The company departs the Dalish encampment, setting off towards the Circle tower.

Calandriel rose feeling recharged after the ups and downs of the previous evening. Despite what had happened between them, she and Zevran had continued to share a bed, as it was only practical, though nothing more than sleeping went on. She gazed down at his golden hair cascading across the pillow and then promptly looked away again. She could not let her feelings get in the way of the task at hand. They were to set out today and she wouldn’t let herself be bogged down by the past. The future was more important. 

She swept up her violet robe and pulled it over her head, followed by her velvet cloak. Next to the bed on a small shelf was the bottle of lavender perfume Zevran had given her. She grabbed it and squeezed the ball on the end, scenting her neck and wrists with the floral bouquet. She stuffed the bottle into a pouch about her waist, took up her staff, and then exited the aravel. She blinked against the bright sunlight and judged it to be around 11 AM. The sky was mostly clear, and a bright blue, but a cold chill hung in the air. She wrapped her robe about her more tightly and determinedly made rounds about the _aravels_ , making sure that everyone was awake. 

“Astrid? Alistair? Are you up?” she called outside of the humans’ landship. 

The two reluctantly stirred from their embrace and emerged from the wagon a moment later. 

“I hope I wasn’t disturbing anything,” the elven woman said, noting the way their hair looked ruffled and the fact that Astrid’s skirt was askew. 

Astrid noticed Calandriel’s gaze and quickly adjusted herself. The elf’s eyes glinted with mirth. “Now then,” she said, smiling, “We ought to get packed up and see the Keeper. I figure we can get a few miles under our feet before the sun sets if we get out of here in the next couple of hours.”

“Right,” Alistair said. “We’ll meet you at the Keeper’s hut once we gather everything up.”

Calandriel nodded her acknowledgement then made her way back to her own _aravel_. Zevran was the last to awaken. She took a deep breath and entered the wagon, thankful to find that he was already up. He was sitting on the edge of the bed in just his leather skirt, pulling on his tall leather boots when she came in. 

“Ah, Calandriel. I thought I smelled your luxurious scent. I was saddened to see you were not here when I opened my eyes,” the rogue said. His accent still melted her heart. 

“Come on, let’s get some brunch,” she said, keeping it light, but avoidant. She waited for him to finish dressing, then the two of them gathered up their packs and made their way to the Keeper’s hut.

Oghren and Morrigan were already there and Alistair and Astrid arrived at the same time as the two elves. A hearty breakfast had been laid out for them, along with several bulging packs.

“Parting gifts, as thanks for all your help,” the Keeper said, waving his hand in a wide sweep to indicate the bags. 

Astrid peeked inside one of them, finding it full of food. There were sacks of dried fruit and nuts, jerky, and cheese, as well as fresh apples and jugs of water. “This is wonderful,” she said, “but… how are we going to carry it all?”

“Ah,” the Keeper said. “For that, we have devised a solution.” He gave a long, clear whistle, and a moment later, a magnificent white halla appeared, being led by Samahl. “To bear your burdens,” the Keeper said. “I would give you mounts as well, but the halla do not typically tolerate non-elven riders. All I ask is that when you have reached your next destination, that you send her back to me. Halla are much akin to the Dalish. They are wild at heart, and do not last long without their freedom. She will know which way to go.” 

The beautiful beast stamped its hooves and shook its head; the long, curling white antlers swaying back and forth. It wore no saddle or reins, for the Dalish did not believe in such things, though it was certainly large enough to be ridden. 

“Thank you, Keeper,” Calandriel spoke for all. “This is much more than we could have asked for.”

“I owe you a great debt,” the elven lord said. “Which will not be fulfilled until the Dalish can fight for your cause. Until then, I will give you what I can.” He nodded to Samahl, who disappeared and returned momentarily, carrying a wooden box under one arm. He set it before the companions on the table and proceeded to open it. Inside, resting on black velvet, were seven amulets, silver-wrought. They were all similar in style, though each one was set with a different stone. “For mana regeneration and healing,” the Keeper said, handing the white moonstone amulet to Calandriel. “For cunning and dexterity,” he said, offering the pink tourmaline one to Astrid. The rest were handed out in the same manner; rhodolite for Morrigan, fire opal for Oghren, peridot for Zevran, and blue topaz for Alistair. Each one granted them a bonus to their particular class; boosting magic, rogue, or warrior abilities. 

While each of them fawned over the precious gifts, Morrigan noted that there was still a seventh amulet resting in the box. “But who is that one for?” she asked.

“ _That_ is a special lyrium-imbibed aquamarine for Fenris,” the Keeper said. “He has decided to accompany you.”

Calandriel felt her stomach tighten as she lifted the delicate chain of her new necklace over her head. She had to pull the lengths of her hair out through it, which was quite the task, though she felt glad for the distraction. Why did she get so tense every time the elven warrior was mentioned? Perhaps it was his gruff demeanor or his hostility toward magic. But the feeling in the pit of her stomach wasn’t just anxiety; she felt excited too. When she finally finished untangling the chain from her hair, she looked down and admired the amulet that rested perfectly between her breasts. The moonstone seemed to glow from within as if it was the moon itself. She felt comforted knowing it was close to her heart. 

“Ooh, that matches quite nicely with the brooch from Harrowmont!” Astrid said, indicating the opal pendant that clasped Calandriel’s cloak about her throat. “And the silver compliments your eyes.”

“So it does,” the elven woman laughed. “Let me see yours.” 

Astrid drew the chain out from the inside of her bust. The cabochon gem was scintillating. Where did the Keeper find such precious stones? 

“Some nice rocks, but the craftsmanship could use a little work.” Oghren had appeared between the two women, inspecting their necklaces. His head came up to their chests; the perfect view. “You oughtta hire some dwarven artisans next time. Even surface dwarves coulda done a better job.”

“Apologies for our companion,” Alistair said hastily to the Keeper. “We truly are grateful.”

“No need,” the Keeper laughed and waved a hand dismissively. “I would expect no less from one of his kind. And perhaps he is right. Dwarven craftsmanship _is_ unparalleled.”

“You got that right, elf! Heh heh.” said Oghren. “Though I suppose they’re pretty good for _elvish_ make…”

“I hate to interrupt this little love fest, but am I the only one that seems to care the lyrium elf will be joining us?” Morrigan spoke. “I mean, who thought it would be a good idea to bring along a man who hates mages when there are two of us in the party? Not to mention where we are planning on going next… _a tower full of mages!_ ” 

Astrid, ever perceptive, could sense Calandriel’s discomfort, and spoke before she could. “He has proven himself very useful thus far. And besides, I’m sure he wouldn’t agree to come with if he was _that_ intolerant of magic.”

“I think he has _other_ motivations,” Morrigan said darkly, glaring at Calandriel.

The two mage women normally got on fairly well. In fact, Calandriel probably had a better relationship with Morrigan than anyone else in the party, but the Witch of the Wilds was notorious for her sudden cattiness.

“Let’s just find the elf and see for ourselves, shall we?” Alistair said with surprising tactfulness. “The hour is growing late.”

As if on cue, the elf appeared. He looked considerably less ragged than the previous night, no doubt having bathed and slept while the rest of them feasted. Silently, he took up the last amulet resting in the box, put it on, and nodded his acknowledgement to the Keeper. 

“Now that your _boyfriend_ has arrived, can we get going?” Morrigan said maliciously. 

Calandriel felt anger and embarrassment rising within her at the unsolicited comment. With a final thanks to the Keeper, she grabbed her staff, shouldered her pack, and stormed off. 

The rest of the company followed suit, expressing their gratitude and heading off toward the western outskirts of the camp. With Oghren flanking the beast on the other side, Zevran led the burdened halla just behind Calandriel. He gave Morrigan a judging look, though she continued to smirk. She wasn’t the only one that had hurt and humiliated Calandriel, after all, and Zevran was well aware of it. Alistair, as the navigator, hastened to take the lead with Astrid at his side. He knew more than anyone else which way they needed to go. Trailing behind them all was Fenris. He said not a word, feeling that his presence was unwelcomed.

* * *

The party trudged in silence for the first few hours of their journey. Despite the accomplishments of the previous few days, a feeling of tension loomed over the companions. Calandriel, for one, had felt so good being among her own people again that she had temporarily lost sight of what they were doing. It felt strange to be on the road once again and no longer safe amid a large group of people. It was just the seven of them now, on their way to complete yet another dangerous task. She wanted to feel more excited, knowing she was on her way to the place she had called home for eight years of her life, but she felt overcome by a growing sense of worry. She wanted to be positive; she knew she _should_ be, but she was finding it difficult. The total silence among her companions was not helping the matter either.   
She hastened to catch up with Astrid and Alistair at the front of their caravan. “I didn’t even think to ask… How long of a journey do we expect to have?”

Alistair squinted, calculating. “I’d say if we’re being optimistic, and without any delays, we’re looking at about a fortnight. If we take any longer than that, we’ll be looking winter dead in the face. Then we can expect an even longer journey with the snow.”

Calandriel hadn’t thought about that. It was very late in the year and most of the trees had already begun to change. Autumn would be over by the time they reached the Circle tower. She shivered. 

“You can’t be cold already!” Astrid teased, though it was clear that she was feeling the chill too in her scant leathers, despite the traveling cloak she donned over them. 

Alistair noticed. “We’ll have to stop somewhere along the way to get warmer clothes. If my map is accurate, there should be a village two days’ journey from us where we can pick up some winter gear.”

“Is the Circle tower very warm in winter?” Astrid asked the elven mage. It felt good to talk after the hours of quietude and brooding, even if it was a somewhat trivial subject. 

“Oh yes. Very much so,” Calandriel replied. “There is a hearth in every room and the whole place is lit by floating enchanted glow lamps. It’s very cozy.” She felt comforted at the thought of it, remembering nights spent studying scrolls beside the fireplace, falling asleep in a velvet chair.

“But who keeps the fires burning? Who does all the work to light your halls and prepare your meals?” Morrigan said it more than she asked it, already knowing the answer. 

“I never thought about that,” Astrid said, not immediately picking up on Morrigan’s tone. “At Highever, we had servants to take care of those things.”

“The Tranquil,” came a low voice before any of them could speak. Fenris had caught up to the rest of the group. “It’s what they do to mages that pose a particularly high risk. The practise is rare in Tevinter, considering the high value on magic... Even when a mage is clearly on the path to darkness, they’d rather spare him than invoke Tranquility so as not to waste his power. It’s ridiculous, if you ask me.”

“Well, no one _did_ ask you, did they?” Morrigan said haughtily. “And are you saying you condone Tranquility? Do you think mages should be subjected to such a vile punishment?” 

Calandriel strained her pointed ears to hear what the lyrium elf had to say.

He was silent for a moment, clearly thinking how to put into words what was in his mind. “No,” he said at length, and Calandriel loosened slightly. “It is no better than slavery. Better to just kill them outright than to subject them to that torture.”

Astrid could feel the tensions rising yet again. “But I don’t understand _what_ exactly Tranquility is,” she said, trying to divert the conversation slightly, and because she was genuinely curious. 

“The templars invoke a rite that makes the mages… hollow,” Alistair explained as they continued walking. “It makes them calm, but empty. They no longer pose the risk of becoming an abomination, because their magic is gone. Demons and spirits no longer try to commune with them. But with their magic goes their personalities, what makes them people.”

“They do not feel, they do not love. They do whatever is asked of them because they cannot say no,” Fenris said in disgust. 

“That’s awful…” Astrid said. She truly had not known.

“And it’s what’s going to happen to me and Calandriel if we’re not careful,” Morrigan said soberly. “Let us not forget that _I_ am an apostate.”

“Well,” Calandriel began. “Technically I am too.”

The dusky woman rose her eyebrows in surprise. 

“It’s true,” the elf said. “I was only allowed to leave the Circle because of Duncan. With him… _gone_ …” she said, with a glance at Alistair, “I am expected to return. There could be templars looking for me even as we speak.” This had been weighing on her mind for quite some time and was a large part of why she had felt so melancholy as of late. 

“I will not let them harm you, moonflower,” said Zevran, who had been listening. 

“Well, I’m sure if we just explain that our duties are not done, they’ll have to understand,” Astrid said. “The world is at stake and we are the only ones who can save it.”

“There must be at least a few level-headed templars in that place,” Alistair added. 

“There are… But I signed a contract,” Calandriel said, her voice desperate now. “And they have my phylactery.”

“Well, maybe we can amend the contract,” Alistair said resolutely.

“And smash the phylactery!” Zevran chimed in cheerily.


	36. South Reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The company reaches the village of South Reach just as the snow becomes unbearable, though rest is not immediately guaranteed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, this chapter isn't exactly finished yet. I may add a bit more to it to give it a proper end. 
> 
> Secondly, there are a few bits that are heavily inspired by the music I was listening to at the time. I made a playlist of tavern songs recently and have been listening to them nonstop, particularly the song "Enchanter" from Inquisition. 
> 
> Tavern Songs: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFCujBWUZBL_Mn0VRsBtTaPvByYRsbjls
> 
> Thirdly, this chunk of the story is all ladyoflaurelindorenan. I think both lavenderbee and I got slightly burnt out after the big Alistair & Astrid climax and needed a break for a while. She is currently busy with school but I have been coming up with plot lines over the last few months and finally managed to sit down and write it all out.

Calandriel was glad to have the support of her companions though her feelings of anxiety continued to loom over her as they marched late into the night and she remained mostly silent while the rest of them chatted, told stories, and fought over which way they ought to go. They spent a quiet night at their campsite, enjoying some of the food the Dalish Keeper had given them, before retiring to their tents. Fenris volunteered to take first watch, and Calandriel wondered if the man ever slept. She found it difficult to fall asleep herself, but eventually managed.

She awoke to a most heavenly yet familiar scent wafting through her tent. Mingling with the smokiness of the campfire was the distinct smell of roasted string squash, garlic, and elfroot. Excitedly, she burst out of her tent, momentarily forgetting her worries. “Are you making--”

“Dalish Deep Comfort!” Astrid finished for her. “There were a bunch of recipe cards tucked in with the goods we received from the Keeper and I found some deep mushrooms and wildflowers when I got up this morning.”

Calandriel admired Astrid’s ability to not only be awake at such an early hour, but to also be fully functional and productive. The elven woman had always been more of a night owl and had trouble getting out of bed before noon. “It smells so delicious!” 

The rest of the companions were either already awake or were in the process of rising. They ate and packed up hastily, eager to set out once again. 

“We made excellent time yesterday,” Alistair said, examining his map for the thousandth time. “I reckon we’ll make it to South Reach tonight after all.”

South Reach was a sizable little Arling just west of the Brecilian Forest. It consisted of mostly fertile farm lands, though the main village had all the amenities of a proper city: an inn, a blacksmith, trade stalls, stables, merchants, and even entertainment. 

The company felt collectively relieved that they would be reaching the village sooner than previously anticipated due to the cold that was growing ever more prevalent. The morning sky had been grey and foreboding, the forest floor where they camped was hoary and covered in sparkling white frost. As the day dragged on, the temperature plummeted, forcing them all to draw up their hoods and don extra articles of clothing in an effort to keep warm. The wind cut through their traveling cloaks, stinging their skin, and howling in their ears. As afternoon set in, so too did the snow. It started light at first; a few sporadic fluttering flakes, though as they journeyed onward, the snow began to fall more and more heavily. Soon the ground was coated in a fine white dusting and by mid-afternoon they found themselves struggling through nearly a foot of snow. 

“The first snowfall of the year and it has to be a bloody blizzard!” Alistair said with irritation. 

“What is this stuff anyway?” Oghren grunted. “First the sky pisses all over us with this thing you surfacers call rain, and now I hate to think whatever _this_ is!”

Zevran laughed merrily, clapping the dwarf on the back and proceeding to dust some of the snow off of his shoulders. “It is called _snow_ , my friend, and I agree that it is horrible. Antiva is such a _warm_ place that anyone who is anyone has a pool to cool off in and servants to fan them. Ahh, the pool parties I used to attend… Coercing the fan girls and boys into the water… Their masters would be so angry, until they realized how hot it was and then they would just jump in and join us.”

“I could go for a good old fashioned orgy myself right now, if only it would warm me up!” the dwarf said, taking a flask from his hip and drinking deeply.

“I’m game!” Zevran said, laughing with Oghren, who shared his drink with the elf. As he passed it back to Oghren, the dwarf took another long draught and belched.

“Easy now, boys!” Astrid said, trying hard to hide the fact that she actually thought Oghren was hilarious, “You’ll be drunk by the time we reach the village!”

“That’s the plan, isn’t it?” Oghren chuckled and downed another chug. 

It was all they could do to keep their spirits up as the snow continued to pile up beneath their feet, though just as they began to feel they could go on no longer, the end was in sight. Up ahead, barely visible through the icy haze was the warm distant glow of torch lights, signifying civilization. 

“Thank the Maker,” Alistair breathed to himself.

The party pushed onward with a renewed vigor, reaching the outskirts of South Reach in surprisingly good time in light of the current conditions. By this point, the snow had piled up well past their ankles and the sky showed no signs of relenting its icy fury. The village did not have protective walls around it like some of the larger cities, so there was no gate to gain access through, though there were guards posted here and there around the perimeters. Judging by the way in which each of them shivered and shuddered, it was obvious that they were just as cold as the travelers--perhaps even colder, considering they were just standing in one place.

“Ho there! S-state your business,” one of them said through chattering teeth. 

“We’re just looking for a place to stay for the evening,” Alistair told him. 

“Then you’ll want the Bearded Belly! J-just up the high street there,” the man gestured behind him. “I’m just waitin’ for my replacement so I can go there meself!” He shook himself and looked over the party more thoroughly. “My, b-but aren’t you an interesting lot? Humans and elves… A d-dwarf and a h-halla?” 

“Yes, yes, we’re a bunch of freaks, I know. Thanks for your help,” Alistair said dismissively, wanting to get inside as quickly as possible, not to mention wanting to avoid giving away too much information.

The party brushed past the guard and followed the flat snowy expanse that they assumed was normally a road. Here and there footprints made a path across it, most of them leading toward a charming edifice with a swinging sign that said in bold lettering: THE BEARDED BELLY. Carved into it was an illustration of a jolly fat man, his head tossed back in raucous laughter as his hands clutched his ample paunch. 

A teenaged elven boy appeared right away to take their mount to the stable. Alistair flipped him a coin and the companions stepped inside the inn. 

They could not have found themselves in a more comforting environment. There was a gigantic stone hearth on one side of the room and each table was lit with a simple pewter candelabra. A stage was positioned across from the bar where a troupe of bards performed with lute, drums, and flute. It was just what they needed after enduring the cold for so long. 

“Good evening, serahs!” came a woman’s voice from behind the bar. It was sharp yet pleasant, with a distinct Orlesian accent, and loud enough to be heard over the cheerful music coming from the stage. The woman bustled out from behind the counter to reveal her plump yet pretty figure.

“I was expecting a portly bearded gentleman, weren’t you?” Alistair said quietly to Astrid, who giggled and nodded her agreement. 

“Doesn’t everybody?” the barmaid laughed, overhearing his jest. “It’s a terrible name, I know, but it wasn’t my choice. That’s my husband on the sign out there. Late husband, I should say. His belly finally got the best of him. Died of a heart attack some years back. I told him he’d turn into a pig if he kept eating them the way he did… But my apologies, serahs! Where have my manners gone? Here, let me take your cloaks. My name is Madame Delphine and to serve you would be my pleasure!” She busied herself around the group, collecting their cloaks until she was covered in them. Despite her voluminous bust and voluptuous figure, she was about as tall as Oghren, and the sight of her buried beneath a mountain of cloaks was rather comical. She hung the cloaks on hooks behind the bar, near a cooking hearth, and proceeded to lean over the counter with a look in her eyes somewhere between madness and eagerness to please. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“We’d like to rent a few rooms,” Alistair said, approaching the counter. 

“Just for a night or is this an extended stay?” the woman said excitedly. She grabbed a clipboard from under the counter and readied her feather pen. 

“Just for tonight. There’s seven of us,” Alistair told her. 

“Six,” came Fenris’s low voice, and he appeared momentarily next to the knight. “I shall sleep outside.”

“Are you mad?” said Alistair incredulously. “It’s _freezing_ out there!”

“Really, it’s fine. I am accustomed to worse,” Fenris said gruffly. 

“Well, as it is, I have only three rooms available,” Madame Delphine said, examining her clipboard. “Two can fit comfortably, but I’ve had groups as big as four in one room before. Doing Maker knows _what_ , I can only _imagine_!” She tittered excitedly and sighed. Clearly this woman loved the life of being an innkeeper. “There’s running water and a tub in each one too if any of you are in need of washing up.”

“Three rooms is fine,” Alistair said. 

“And will you be having refreshments this evening?” the barmaid inquired.

“I don’t know ‘bout the rest of you, but I sure will be!” Oghren said, stepping forward. He was already a little bit buzzed from pulling on his flask for the last couple of hours, though his eye hadn’t yet gone wonky. He bowed deeply to Madame Delphine before seating himself at the bar in front of her. “Tell me, my lady, d’ya have any _dwarven_ stock?”

“Oh, my yes!” the woman squealed delightedly and she produced a squat jug of some foul dwarvish drink which she poured for her customer. “Anything for you, dears?” she smiled at the rest of the group. 

Zevran took a seat next to Oghren and ordered a mug of whatever it was he was having. Morrigan asked for a popular fruity cocktail called Dragon’s Fire, and the rest of them ordered wine. Alistair and Astrid agreed upon an elegant bottle of honey wine while Calandriel and Fenris decided to split a bottle of _Aggregio pavali_. 

Drinks in hand and payment made, they searched for a place to sit. The inn was extremely packed but they found some empty seats at the end of a long table near the stage. It seemed few people were paying any attention to the music, too engrossed in their conversations and alcohol. 

“I love live music,” Astrid said wistfully as they took their places. She sat on one side of the table with Calandriel and Morrigan while Alistair and Fenris sat on the other. From her seat, Astrid had an excellent view of the performers. The lead singer was a woman close to her age with a bob of auburn hair and pale skin. She played the lute and sang beautifully, her voice soaring above the chatter of the inn, and Astrid thought it a shame that so few people were listening. She sipped at her wine, enjoying the delicate sweetness that was more subtle than mead, and remembering the traveling minstrels who entertained her family at Highever not so long ago. It felt like it had been an eternity. She drank deeply from her glass this time, and looked around at her companions. How had a noble girl found herself in this place, surrounded by elves and assassins, templars and apostates? And how was it that now she felt closer to them than her own family? She took another drink of the honey-laced wine and refilled her glass.

“Astrid, are you alright?” Alistair said, his face wrought with concern. 

Realizing she must have been spacing out, Astrid snapped back to the present. “I’m sorry, it’s just… the music. It reminds me of home,” she said. 

Now the bards on stage launched into a rendition of “I Am the One,” which hushed the room considerably. It was a popular tune that nearly everyone in Thedas was familiar with. The song seemed to take on a different meaning now, though. Before, Astrid hadn’t thought of it as much more than a folk tune, but now it struck her as being very personal. She recited the words in her mind along with the singer, who gazed intently from the stage right in her direction. In that moment, she felt as if she was the only person in the room.

_I feel sun_  
_Through the ashes in the sky._  
_Where’s the one_  
_Who’ll guide us into the night?_  
_What’s begun_  
_Is the war that will force this divide._  
_What’s to come_  
_Is fire and the end of time._  
_I am the one_  
_Who can recount_  
_What we’ve lost._  
_I am the one_  
_Who will live on._  
_I have run_  
_Through the fields_  
_Of pain and sighs._  
_I have fought_  
_To see the other side._  
_I am the one_  
_Who can recount_  
_What we’ve lost._  
_I am the one_  
_Who will live on._

The song concluded to much applause, especially from Madame Delphine, who was whistling and hopping up and down from her place at the bar as though possessed. When she had finished, Astrid smiled seeing that Oghren was clearly getting on well with the woman. No doubt with Zevran’s help as wingman, she noted. She turned again towards the stage and found herself making eye contact once again with the redheaded bard. _Why is she staring at me?_ she thought. _Or am I just being paranoid? Perhaps there is some charming young lad behind me._ She looked around but could see no one besides the usual obese barflies that liked to frequent such establishments. When she glanced back at the stage again, the bard was tuning her lute, but continued to maintain that unbreaking gaze. Astrid looked determinedly at her and was startled by the sudden flick of the woman’s blue eyes towards stage left, or Astrid’s right. She blinked and looked around at her companions, who had loosened slightly and were talking, oblivious to the performer’s strange behavior. Reluctantly, she cast a glance far to the right. 

In a corner of the bar sat a group of hooded figures. While nearly everyone in the inn had opted to hang their cloaks up to dry behind the bar, these people hadn’t. She looked back at the bard once again, who nodded and proceeded to play another song. 

“Don’t look now,” Astrid said conspiratorially, lowering her voice, “but I think we need to be wary of those hooded figures in the corner.”

“How do you know?” Calandriel asked.

“I just… have a feeling,” Astrid said. She took another sip of wine and felt for one of the daggers she kept strapped to her leg. She didn’t know whether to trust the woman on stage or not, but either way, clutching the hilt of her blade brought her some ease. 

“Should we confront them?” Alistair asked. It was clear that seeing Astrid’s guard go up made him agitated. 

“Let them come to us,” Fenris growled. “Let them think they have the upper hand.”

“Someone should warn Oghren and Zev,” Calandriel said, getting up from her seat. “I’ll make it look like I’m ordering some more wine.” With that, she swept off to the bar.

The mysterious figures saw their opening. They stood up from their table nonchalantly, pushing in their chairs and downing the last of their cups. There were four of them altogether, dressed in identical matching cloaks, their faces completely obscured. Two made their way toward the table near the stage, while the other two headed towards the bar. 

“Prepare yourselves,” Astrid muttered, ready to spring at any moment. The men meandered through the tables, looking no more threatening than the jolly patrons who were seated at them, except for the brief flash of armor that glinted when a flap of fabric revealed what was beneath. 

Astrid clutched at her dagger more tightly and Alistair’s fingers twitched, ready to unsheathe his sword at a moment’s notice. As the men got closer, Astrid espied their hands reaching into their cloaks, grasping for weapons. She thought she could hear the drum beat of the stage rising ever faster, along with her heartbeat. 

Just as the two men who were headed toward the bar were about to reach Calandriel, the music died suddenly and a second later there was a distinct cry of pain coming from one of the cloaked figures. The man grabbed at the dagger that was now sticking out of his eye socket and attempted to wrench it free, but he only managed to remove his hood. The sight of it was gruesome. 

Astrid had only a second to look up at the stage and see who had thrown the dagger. The bard lingered in her follow-through stance for just a moment before leaping off the stage and onto the back of one of the figures closest to Astrid. As the bard grappled with her foe, Astrid reacted to another figure lunging at her. She leapt out of the way, maneuvering past the chaos of bar patrons who were now screaming and rushing toward the door. The figure’s hood fell down, revealing a woman. She staggered and tore off the cloak to better move around. In the flickering firelight, the flaming sword of the templars shown on the woman’s breast plate. When the woman had regained herself, she charged once more at Astrid, brandishing her sword, though the noble girl was too quick for her. Emboldened by wine and a strange vigor emanating from the amulet around her neck, she leapt once more out of the way, slashing and cutting into the woman’s arm. Alistair flanked her from the other side while Morrigan conjured a spell. 

Meanwhile, the bard was still struggling with the enemy on whose shoulders she clung. He flailed desperately in an attempt to remove her but found himself face-to-face with Fenris. Having no time to unsheathe his greatsword, Fenris relied upon the lyrium in his veins to make a swift end of the attacker. Thrusting his palm into the templar’s chest, his arm glowed a brilliant aquamarine before sinking through the armor and skin by some strange power. Fenris made an anguished noise as he curled his hand into a fist around the man’s heart, the blue flames of the lyrium engulfing his enemy and exploding spectacularly, effectively killing the templar. The bard rolled off the man’s limp body and dashed towards the bar where one of the templars still remained, surrounded by Calandriel, Zevran and Oghren. The man who had been struck in the eye had already been defeated. 

“Just let us have the apostates and the rest of you can go free,” the templar near the bar said, undeterred by the fact that he was seriously outnumbered and half of his companions were dead. 

The female templar nearest Astrid sent a blast of magic-cancelling power which erupted through the entire inn, disarming Calandriel and Morrigan and knocking the mages to the floor. 

The male templar by the bar stooped to get a hold of Calandriel, leaving his back entirely vulnerable. Though it was not Zevran or Oghren or even the bard who made the killing blow. 

Madame Delphine, with surprising agility, had leapt up from behind the bar and stabbed the templar in the neck with what looked like a kitchen knife. The kill was swift and the man collapsed at once in a pool of blood. 

Astrid seized the opportunity to round on the last standing templar. She feigned an attack to the left but disappeared catlike to the woman’s right side, slashing wildly. Caught off guard, the woman was unable to retaliate. Alistair rose his sword and drove it through the chest plate, finishing the job. 

The inn was now empty save for the companions and Madame Delphine, all of whom were struggling to catch their breath. 

“I’m so sorry we’ve made a mess of your inn,” Calandriel said, pulling herself up with help from Zevran. 

“It’s alright, dear!” the woman said kindly. She waddled over to the templar she had finished off and squatted over him, pulling her knife out with some degree of effort. “This is a very good knife. Can’t leave it here, now can I?” she chuckled.

“But why did you help?” Astrid asked. “I mean, we’re grateful for it, but you had no reason to put yourself in danger.”

“On the contrary, my dear. I had every reason to assist. You see, my daughter is a mage.” The woman’s cheery tone faded into sadness. “She was taken from me and brought to the Circle near Lake Calenhad, never to be seen again. She wrote to me of the abuse she suffered at the hands of a gang of templars. When they found out she was writing to me of such things, they sent her away to Kirkwall. I don’t even know if she is alive or dead.”

“What is her name?” Calandriel asked. 

“Rosalie,” the woman replied. 

Calandriel searched her memory. The name was familiar. “Rosalie… Yes. A little older than me? Red hair? I remember her. We had only had a few encounters before she left. She was scared to leave, but in good health when they sent her away.” 

“Oh, thank the Maker!” Madame Delphine sobbed, bustling over to Calandriel to wrap her in a tight hug. 

“We’re actually on our way to the Circle tower,” the elven woman continued. “If we hear anything about your daughter, I promise to let you know.” 

“Oh, my dear, I would be eternally grateful!” She squeezed Calandriel again and proceeded to hug and kiss the cheeks of each of them in gratitude. When she reached Oghren, arms spread wide, she instead planted a kiss right on his lips, making the dwarf turn as red as the blood on the floor. “And _you_ , my dear Leliana, _ma bichette!_ What would I do without you?”

“Leliana?” Astrid said the name and the bard bowed. “What would _we_ have done without you? You saved us tonight.”

“D’ya need some help cleaning up, Madame?” came a man’s voice from the stage. 

“I reckon we can get this place back to normal within the hour,” said the drummer. 

“You can’t really be re-opening tonight after all that, can you?” Alistair said doubtfully. 

“Of course I can!” Madame Delphine boomed, smiling once again. “People have got to have a place to drink, especially in times like these. And besides, I owe you all. Drinks on the house!” 

Madame Delphine proceeded to alert the crowd outside of the state of affairs and several men offered their assistance at once. It seemed that the barmaid had quite the loyal customer base. In no time, the place was looking just as it had before their arrival and arrangements had been made to dispose of the templars’ remains. 

Zevran had had much to say on the matter, and Madame Delphine listened eagerly to his suggestions. 

“She’s a living doll, isn’t she?” The woman named Leliana said through a thick Orlesian accent to Astrid once everything had been settled. She seated herself across from the noble woman, pouring a glass of wine for each of them. 

“I want to be her someday,” Astrid laughed, accepting the glass and clanking it with her new-found ally. “But tell me… Who are you?”

The bard took a long drink of wine and swallowed. “As Madame Delphine told you, my name is Leliana. I am a friend. And I offer you my services.” She gazed directly at Astrid, her blue eyes intense but sincere. 

“But why?” Astrid asked cautiously. 

“You are Grey Wardens, are you not?” the woman said inquisitively. “Your fight is mine. It is all of ours, though there are many who do not know it or do not care. _I care_. I have been following your progress for some time. I have spies all across Thedas. I know where you have been and where you intend to go. And I know that you walk blindly into danger.”

“What do you mean?” Astrid hesitated taking another drink. 

“The Circle tower is not as it once was. It is not as your friend Calandriel may have remembered it to be. The Knight Commander has been replaced by a cruel man who abuses the mages that dwell there.”

“Calandriel should know,” Astrid said resolutely, placing her hand on the table to lift herself off the bench on which she sat. 

“Not tonight,” came Leliana’s voice, and her hand rested on Astrid’s, stopping her. “This is all deeply personal for her. You can see by the tells on her face and the way she moves. Let her rest for the night. Tell her tomorrow.”

Astrid felt slightly unsettled by how much this woman seemed to know about them all, and yet she felt like she could trust her. She paused as she looked at her elven friend across the room and then sank back into her seat. 

“Did you enjoy the performance?” Leliana asked, changing the subject. 

“It was beautiful,” Astrid admitted. “I have always wanted to perform like that. I studied various instruments in my schooling, but it’s really no use to have such knowledge if you never apply it.”

“Astrid, are you alright?” Alistair had reappeared from cleaning himself up and took a seat next to the curly haired blonde. He set down another bottle of a fine vintage which Madame Delphine had pulled out specially for them. 

“Of course I’m alright,” Astrid smiled at his concern. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“She can take care of _more_ than herself, I’m sure,” Leliana said. “She was the only one paying any attention to the bloody performance!” She laughed. 

Soon, Zevran and Morrigan meandered over to them and took seats at the table. 

“Where did everybody else go?” Alistair asked.

“Ah…” Zevran began. “The broody elf went outside to get some fresh air, Calandriel went upstairs to have a bath, and Oghren… well, you can see _that_ for yourselves! My finest handiwork, if I do say so myself.” Zevran grinned and took a drink. 

The group turned to see Oghren and Madame Delphine with their arms wrapped around each other in a display that was both cute and disgusting at the same time. Astrid nearly spit out her drink with laughter. 

They spent the next hour or so relaxing after their exertion, trying not to speak of what had just happened. There would be plenty of time for that in the morning. Leliana took the stage once more and this time the crowd was much more attentive. 

Up the stairs, Calandriel had sought out her room with the full intention of taking advantage of the bath tub Madame Delphine had mentioned when they first arrived. She had asked the woman about it and found her arms full a moment later with a soft luxurious towel, a bar of soap, a bottle of lavender oil and a full unopened bottle of white wine. She perched it all precariously as she crept up the stairs, shuffling it awkwardly as she pulled out the key to unlock the door. 

The room was spacious and inviting, with sconces along the walls, a large bed, a single arched window, and a copper tub near the hearth, in which a fire was crackling gaily. On one side of the tub was a small vanity replete with mirror and stool, and a beautifully painted room divider broke up the space on the other side, offering some semblance of privacy. She set the items she had procured for her bath on the spindly table next to the tub and turned the water on. It came out hot and steaming and after adding a few dashes of the lavender oil, the entire room was filled with its floral fragrance. 

_Now to find a bottle opener…_ she thought. As the water filled, she searched around the room, finding the instrument easily enough. As she uncorked the bottle, she debated whether or not she ought to use one of the glasses on the mantle but ultimately decided there was no point. Taking a swig from the bottle, she located her pack, which must have been brought in by one of Madame Delphine’s staff, and pulled out her white silken shift to put on after the bath. She draped it over the room divider along with her robes and turned off the water. 

Stepping into the basin, she felt a shock go up her foot as the scalding heat touched her skin. Persevering, she placed her other foot into the water and slowly lowered herself into its hot embrace. She sighed as she sank beneath the water, inhaling the redolence of lavender. This was what she needed after the long icy trek and the templar attack. She took another drink of wine before submerging herself completely in the water. For nearly an hour, she revelled in the warmth, closing her eyes and clearing her mind. Outside, the wind howled and the snow continued to fall, but inside, she felt safe and warm. 

Here and there Calandriel cheated with a warming spell to keep her water at a comfortable temperature, but after a while she knew she must get out lest she drown from falling asleep. Reluctantly, she hoisted herself out of the tub, drained it, dried herself, pulled on the long white nightgown that she slept in and began the arduous task of attempting to comb out her hair. As she sat in front of the mirror, she heard a click followed by the creaking of the door. In the reflection of the mirror she could see who it was that had entered. 

Fenris pulled the door shut behind him, but jumped when he saw that the room was not empty. “M-my apologies, I didn’t know anyone was in here. I’ll just take my things and leave,” he stammered. 

Calandriel stood, abandoning the comb, and forgetting just how transparent her gown was due to the wetness of her hair. “You look absolutely frozen!” she exclaimed, noting the pallor of his normally coppery skin. 

“I’m f-fine. I was just outside for a bit,” he replied unconvincingly. 

“Why don’t you just stay in for the night?” Calandriel asked, stepping towards him. “Or at least take a bath to warm up. I mean, you can’t be serious about sleeping outside in _this_ weather!” She gestured toward the window out of which they could see flecks of white coming down sideways. 

“I… can’t,” Fenris said, surprising her. 

“Can’t what?” Calandriel asked boldly. She was feeling tipsy from the wine, of which there was still plenty left. Madame Delphine must have quite the stash.

“I cannot enjoy a hot bath like you or any normal person can,” the elven man said. Despite his uncharacteristic paleness, his lips were stained a telltale red by the wine he had been drinking. “Too much heat… It… pains me. The markings...” He struggled to find the words. 

Calandriel strode more closely to him so that they were now in reach of each other. “I can help you with that,” she said, grasping his hand and channeling healing magic into it. 

He drew away like an animal afraid to be touched, though he did not run away. Instead, he marvelled at the place where she had touched him and turned his hand, examining it in disbelief. She had done this before, but it still frightened him. “How do you do that?” 

“I can show you,” Calandriel said. She walked over to the mantle and drew down two glasses, placing them on the table next to the bathtub. She held one up in offering. 

Slowly, like a pet being lured by a treat, he cautiously approached and took the glass from her. As he sipped it, she began refilling the tub and dispersing lavender oil into it once again. 

“Sit there,” Calandriel indicated the vanity stool. 

Fenris did as requested but not without taking another drink. 

“The magic will work best without any interference. Take off your shirt,” she said.

Fenris hesitated, but proceeded to remove his gauntlets and peel off the leather jacket that he wore. Without his protective gear, he looked even more gaunt than usual, though that was not the most noticeable thing. The markings that were always visible on his chin and arms continued down to his chest, back, and abdomen, their delicate swirling patterns actually quite artful. She noticed that he was trembling too, whether from the cold or nervousness, she couldn’t tell. 

As the water continued to cascade into the tub, they could faintly hear the words to “Enchanter” coming from the common room below.

_Enchanter, come to me._  
_Enchanter, come to me._  
_Enchanter, come to see._  
_Can you, can you come to see?_  
_As you once were blind,_  
_in the light now you can sing,_  
_in our strength we can rely_  
_and history will not repeat..._

Calandriel hummed along with the tune and began to work her magic. She positioned herself behind Fenris and placed a hand on each of his shoulders. She tried to be as gentle as possible but he still flinched at her touch. Massaging her fingers into the tenseness of his muscles, she released a flow of healing magic.

Involuntarily, Fenris let out a groan of ecstasy. The only other time he had felt this good had been the last time she’d done it, after her trip into the Fade. 

Calandriel paused at the sound, unsure of whether it was pain or pleasure that made him sigh. “Do you wish me to keep going?” she whispered in his ear.

“Yes,” Fenris breathed. “Please.”

Calandriel pushed back her curtain of wet hair and prepared herself once again, this time resting her hands on his lower back. She had to resist wanting to trail her fingers along the delicate scrollwork of his lyrium marks. They reminded her vaguely of some of the illuminated manuscripts she used to study in the Circle tower; the meaning of the words had come only secondary to the looping embellishments of the calligraphy. She channeled another beam of healing power into him and felt his body gradually becoming more limp. “What does it feel like?” she asked, moving to his arms next.

“Like… everything is tingling,” he managed to say, though he was feeling so relaxed that he found it difficult to speak. “Like my muscles are somehow being massaged from the inside.”

“Good,” Calandriel said quietly, caressing his arms with another infusion of magic. “Just the legs left now.”

As she began to position herself on the floor before him, Fenris frantically contemplated whether he should stand or situate himself differently, but it was too late. The silver-haired elf was already kneeling between his legs, placing a hand on each of his thighs. He reached for the glass of wine he had set on the nearby vanity and drank deeply to calm himself as she delivered her final healing spell. He could feel the last of his pain being drawn away through his skin, as though evaporating. He closed his eyes again, feeling so tranquil and simultaneously euphoric that his wine glass nearly slipped out of his hand.

Calandriel caught it, stood, and placed the glass on the spindly table beside the bathtub. “Don’t forget your bath,” she said. “You won’t mind if I sleep now, will you?”

“What?” Fenris came to dazedly. He was reeling from the wine and her healing touch. “No, of course not.”

“If you need anything else, I’ll just be on the other side of this divider,” Calandriel said. “But that should last you at least through the night... Goodnight, Fenris.” And with that, she threw herself into the bed on the other side of the room, feeling absolutely exhausted. If the day’s travels and the exertion and stress of the templar attack hadn’t made her tired, expending that much mana on top of it all made her want to sleep forever. The bottle and a half of wine she had drank that night would at least ensure a good ten hours, if not eternity.

As Calandriel sank into the plush pillows of the inn’s bed, Fenris stripped and sank into the scalding water of the bath. He had never felt anything so pleasurable for as long as he could remember. This must be what it felt like to be normal, he thought. Or perhaps this was even better than how most people felt. She truly has a gift… he said internally, but then began to question his own thinking. In his drunken curiosity, he had temporarily forgotten his complete hostility toward magic, and allowed her to taint him with it. He wanted to be upset with himself for being so weak, and yet he felt like nothing in this moment could make him feel bad. Brief memories of his former slavemaster Danarius flashed across his mind but were quickly replaced by the image of Calandriel in her shift. 

[ ](http://imgur.com/mTloGwt)

The pleasurable sensations continued to course through his veins, making him feel at once content but also ravenous with desire. He felt himself hardening beneath the surface of the hot water, though rather than give in to the temptation of touching himself, he tried to ignore it by finishing off the last of the bottle of wine. He had already been weak and vulnerable once tonight. He would not let it happen again. Instead, he concentrated on washing his hair and scrubbing his skin, before stepping out of the tub and draining it. After drying himself off, he pulled on a clean pair of his signature fitted black pants and stoked the dying fire. He glanced over at the bed and saw Calandriel lying there in slumberous satisfaction. Seeing that she was without cover, he edged toward the bed and instinctively pulled the blankets over her. 

Afterward, he hesitated, hovering beside the bed. With a more rational mind, he would never even consider crawling into the same bed as her, but the wine made it seem like a perfectly good idea at this moment. It was a very large bed after all; Madame Delphine had said so herself. Without another thought, he crawled beneath the covers, and blissfully passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a TON of notes about this chapter!
> 
> On the Bearded Belly: A long time ago, I was looking at an Elvish dictionary to find a name for a tavern. I must have been in high school. I came across the words Fanga-ar-Kumba, which translated to Bearded Belly or Beard-and-Belly. Something like that. Since then, it has always been my go-to tavern name. 
> 
> On Madame Delphine: I love these characters that just sort of _want_ to be born. I just realized we hadn't really had any female innkeepers and out of nowhere, this plump Orlesian woman comes out. As I started writing about her, I thought that if she was married to a fat bearded man, then she surely would be interested in a dwarf. Finally Oghren sees some action!
> 
> On the running water: I know these are medieval times, but I really didn't want to fiddle with having to write about servants bringing in buckets of hot water and emptying the tub. I imagine that either Thedas has some sort of primitive plumbing or else magic is involved. 
> 
> On the bath scene: This came about because it is currently winter where I live and it gets to be very cold and snowy. For many nights, I have gone to sleep imagining that I am Calandriel taking a hot, soothing bath, just as a way to feel warm.


	37. Discussion in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lavenderbee actually wrote this section ages ago. I just never got around to uploading it due to lots of big life events like moving, adopting two adorable kitties, etc. etc. Anyway, it's a shame I didn't get this one out there earlier because I absolutely looooove this scene!

_So soft…so warm._ Now that he was not experiencing pain, Fenris was hypersensitive to all the other sensations a cozy bed containing a supple young mage offered. He had fallen into bed behind her and stayed soundly in the same position as he slept through the night. He needed to rouse himself before sunrise to escape notice. He opened his eyes and looked down to see that his hard muscled chest rested merely inches behind Calandriel’s back. He could feel mana emanating from her even when she was unconscious. It felt strangely comforting. He had heard she was a powerful mage from the Keeper, but now knew through his own experiences that even that was an understatement. He took a deep breath. The subtle movement in his body made him realize exactly how close he was to the elven woman.

In his relaxed state from the wine, massage, and bath, he had collapsed into the bed completely naked. Fenris lifted the down comforter and saw that though it was not quite morning, he was erect in full glory. His long prick nestled comfortably in the cleft between Calandriel’s round buttocks. It gave off a soft glow from the lyrium veins. He gasped in alarm and pleasure. Just a filmy layer of linen separated their flesh from touching. He hoped he didn’t wake her. Very slowly, he rolled once onto his back, and once more stepped out of the bed onto the cool floorboards.

Fenris stood before the large tub in the center of the room, another pleasant reminder of the previous night’s activities. He picked up his breeches and stepped into them, trying not to lose his balance. Clearly there was still some wine coursing through him. With more brisk and efficient movements, he collected his leather pauldroned shirt, gauntlets, and sword from the floor around the tub. From what he could tell, it was about an hour before dawn. Knowing what he did about Calandriel’s sleeping habits, she would not be awake for hours. He hoped she would not realize what had happened. He thanked the ancestors that it was probably too late for Delphine or any of the tavern patrons to still be awake. Slowly, he crept toward the door. With the skill of a thief, he silently lifted the latch to the door, only opening it the sliver that was necessary for his lean body to pass through. He slowly pulled the door back into the frame and lowered the latch until he felt it rest on the catch.

Fenris let his large eyes flutter shut as he let out a huge sigh of relief. He felt a sudden motion near his feet. He opened his eyes as a body sprang up and forced him into the wall, barring his chest with a strong forearm. Between the dark and his wine-muddled brain, Fenris at first did not recognize the person.  
“Now that I have your attention,” the voice whispered icily in a heavy Antivan accent. Fenris smelled the fumes of brandy, but Zevran did not slur his words at all.  
“I swear to you, nothing happened. She was helping –“ Fenris stammered, trying to whisper and break from Zevran’s pressure. Zevran grabbed Fenris’s wiggling arm by the bicep and pushed into the wall. 

[ ](http://imgur.com/ixikjUL)

“Promise me you will never, _ever_ hurt her.” Zevran’s voice was cold steel, his face nearly touching Fenris’s.

“I didn’t touch her. I wouldn’t –“ Fenris squinted his eyes shut and remembered the feeling of the gauzy fabric of Calandriel’s shift against him mere minutes ago. And as for last night, she had been the one touching him.

“I care not for such details. Just promise me you will not hurt her, break her heart, make her cry. If you care for her, you must wholeheartedly. Promise!” Zevran pushed up against Fenris again, making it difficult for the warrior elf to breathe.

“Wholeheartedly as you did?!” Fenris growled with disdain, shoving back against Zevran. The Antivan slowly brought his forearm down and replied almost silently.

“I have made many mistakes and I do not wish to dwell on them. I also recognize a worthy opponent when I see one. Please, from one fighter to another, give me your word.”

Fenris showed enough dignity to not rub at his chest or take a large breath when Zevran released him. “You make it sound as though she has feelings for me.” Fenris said in as neutral a voice he could muster at this strange hour.

“Do not be a fool!” Zevran hissed. With a sigh, he began again. “Things were not well between us… before we arrived at the encampment. As soon as I saw her lay eyes on you, she may as well have written it on broadsides throughout Thedas. The question is, what are you going to do about it?” Zevran asked icily in an effort to mask the hurt in his voice.

“I’m not talking to you about this.” Fenris said, tight lipped.

“Then once again, give me your word.” Zevran asked, his mahogany eyes boring into Fenris’s.

Fenris recalled Calandriel’s touch the night before, the scent of her hair in the night, their heated argument the night before they left the Dalish, and the incredible power she had commanded to fight the demons. He had never met anyone who confounded and amazed him the way Calandriel did.

“I give you my word.” Fenris said in earnest. At this, the Antivan gripped his right shoulder firmly, but without malice. Zevran gave a single nod and turned around, silently walking down the hall toward the staircase to the common room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize when I was working on my illustration that Zevran wasn't armed. Oh well. I'm keeping the dagger.


	38. Lessons with Leliana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astrid begins her training with the mysterious Orlesian bard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be some small inconsistencies with time of day around this chapter and the next. That is because we were on writing hiatus for almost a year and I only skimmed to refresh myself, so I apologize if it's a little confusing.

Midwinter was quickly approaching, so sunrise seemed to fall rather late in the morning. Astrid initially had felt proud of herself for rising when it was still dark out, but Alistair was already up and dressed before her. 

“Good morning,” he said, smiling at her as he stood near the dull glow of the embers in the hearth in their room. 

“Morning,” Astrid muttered as she stood on the floor, arms outstretched. 

“Did you,” Alistair began, when they both saw a small white slip of parchment slide under the door. Alistair quickly bent to pick it up and opened the door a crack to see who had left the note. 

“Quick as a fennec!” Alistair exclaimed. “I can’t see anyone. Here, it’s for you.” Alistair handed the missive over to Astrid, who was hugging herself to stay warm after emerging from the cozy bed. 

Astrid noted the fine quality of the cream colored parchment. It was smooth and crisp. The front read:

_Astrid Cousland of Highever_

_The Bearded Belly_

Astrid turned it over to see the sender’s seal. A blob of deep plum colored wax was impressed with the image of a nightingale. Astrid didn’t recognize the signet and proceeded to open the letter. It was a brief note written in tiny black letters. It was a tasteful, efficient hand, elegant without ornamentation.

__

_Lady Cousland,_

_It was a pleasure to meet you last night. I would enjoy continuing our conversation over tea and repast this afternoon if you are not otherwise engaged. I will be in Delphine’s parlor at half past twelve. Please let her know if you cannot attend._

_Sincerely,_

_L_

“Who is it from? I had hoped that no one would be able to find us here. We ought to get moving soon,” Alistair babbled, his voice tinged with concern.

“It’s alright,” Astrid replied brightly. “It’s from Leliana, the bard from last night. You know, the one who essentially saved us all? She wants to have tea this afternoon.”

“Tea? Somehow that sly bard does not seem the tea and finger sandwiches type to me. Nor do you, for that matter.” Alistair said, arching an eyebrow at Astrid skeptically.

“You’re joking, right? Yes, there were many aspects of nobility and etiquette that I despised, but I always loved tea. And by that I mean the tea and delicious food! The inane chit-chat and court gossip, not so much.” Astrid’s brown eyes grew large with excitement as she spoke of her favorite drink and meal.

“Well, that’s good to know,” Alistair said, smiling. “I imagine you haven’t had a proper tea since you joined the Wardens.”

“No, excepting some herbal infusions with Calandriel, delicious as they were.” Astrid admitted. “Well, shall we head to the town outfitter to get us all some winter clothing? Then I’ll be back in time to meet Leliana.” 

“Your wish is my command,” Alistair said, beaming at Astrid. “However, as much as I prefer you in your nightclothes, you had probably put your boots on. I heard some people in the tavern discussing a snow storm last night.” 

“If you insist,” Astrid said with feigned exasperation at the prospect of getting dressed. She seated herself on the bed and pulled her leather bodice on and began to lace it tightly. Stepping away from the hearth indeed brought a chill to her skin and she eagerly donned her skirt and boots. 

“Just be careful, alright?” Alistair said to her for practically the thousandth time, though she couldn’t begrudge him his concern. His eyes shone with true care as he clutched her hand from across the bed. 

“I promise,” she said, smiling her assurance. “Besides, I’ll just be downstairs. Come on, you ought to get some breakfast too.”

“Yes, just a quick bite… Then I need to see what kind of market this place has.”

The two of them finished dressing and made their way down to the common room. Madame Delphine had had the foresight to set out carafes of water and empty mugs along the bar for her patrons to hydrate themselves after a night of partying. Astrid filled one and drank eagerly, scanning the room for the entrance to Delphine’s parlor. Spotting a door just beyond the bar, she downed the remainder of her cup, handed it to Alistair, and headed in that direction. She knocked softly on the door and a pleasant, Orlesian accented voice welcomed her.

“Come in, Lady Astrid!” it said.

Astrid stepped gingerly into the room, careful to pull the door closed softly behind her. The space was charming. Much more feminine than the common room, it boasted several windows that let in the bleak winter sunlight that splashed across the pink floral rug on the floor. Leliana sat at a small table covered with a lacy tablecloth. On its surface sat an elegant white teapot and two cups with saucers. Astrid’s nostrils were instantly greeted with the familiar scent of black tea, though she detected something new as well. 

“I hope you like nasturtium flowers,” Leliana said, indicating the teapot. “Please, have a seat.”

Astrid pulled the chair out for herself and sat down. “I’ve never had them before,” she admitted at risk of seeming uncultured.

“Ah, of course. You are Fereldan. These are native to Orlais,” said the bard. With a delicate hand, she lifted the teapot and poured Astrid a cup. The fragrance bloomed and blossomed. 

“That is where you are from,” Astrid deduced, nodding her thanks at the now-full cup. She lifted it to her lips and enjoyed a sip of the hot, lightly spiced contents.

Leliana’s lips turned up in a small smile. “I may be a mistress of secrets and shadows, but that is one thing I will never be able to hide. Yes, I am from Orlais. That is how Madame Delphine and I know each other. Before she met her husband and came to this place, she was a member of the Orlesian court. As was I. We both grew tired of the Game… _You_ , Astrid, are also of noble birth, are you not?”

Astrid rested her cup lightly on its saucer, a little taken aback. “How do you know?” She shifted uncomfortably.

The other woman stared at her confidently. “Your posture. The way you were able to set down that cup without making it clink. The way you talk. It’s written all over you. To someone who knows what to look for, your secrets are obvious.”

Astrid frowned and adjusted herself, now feeling overly self-conscious. She sat upright again in defiance. “Did you invite me here just to tell me I’m bad at keeping a secret?”

“Not at all,” the redheaded woman replied. “I invited you here to offer you an opportunity. To teach you. As I said before, I am an ally. I want to help you and your companions take down the darkspawn at any cost.”

Astrid took another sip of tea, mulling over this idea as she savored the hot liquid in her mouth. “Well, we don’t have much time. We planned to leave right away.”

“It won’t take long,” Leliana said. She stood and approached the small high windows of the room. Gazing out of them, she continued, “Besides, with a storm like this, you will have to stay a couple of days at least.”

Astrid got up to stand beside the woman. Immediately, she saw what Leliana was saying. Snow was piled nearly up to the windows, several feet at least. She heaved a deep breath, feeling simultaneously defeated but also hopeful. “Alright. Teach me.” She held out a hand to the bard, and the woman accepted with a hearty handshake. 

“Let us help ourselves to some breakfast and then we shall begin,” Leliana said.

* * *

Calandriel turned over in her bed and drew the duvet closer around her. The chill air about the room kept slipping in through crevices in the bedding. Calandriel cracked a luminous eye open to see that the hearth was emitting a dull glow. Embers filled most of the space but upon a second glance, the elf could see that a fresh, dry log had been placed amid them. Soon it would catch and begin to burn and crackle. The thought of it brought a smile to her lips and she burrowed her head into the plump down pillow beneath it. As she did so, she caught a scent of something familiar. Leather, she thought absently. Like a cat, she moved easily between rest and wakefulness.

* * *

Alistair was leaving the outfitter in Winter’s Reach when he nearly ran into Zevran. The knight’s arms were full of all the cloaks and boots he had ordered, and the snow was now high enough that he had to walk with his eyes cast down to be sure of his footing.

“My good man, you are up and about early! Did you only sleep last night? Have things already gotten so routine between you and Lady Cousland? Perhaps I might--” Zevran amiably wrapped his arm around Alistair, oblivious to the packages he carried. 

“No need,” Alistair huffed in the cold air. “I assure you, there is nothing routine about us. What brings you out?” Alistair asked, turning his head to get a look at the Antivan. Despite the frigid temperature and snow drifts, Zevran still wore his sparse leathers and little else. His tan skin looked darker than ever, contrasting with all the white. Zevran turned around and called behind to a pair of men driving a sleigh being pulled by two work horses. 

“This way, boys! I had no idea Vincento knew folks all the way in this frozen wasteland, but now I am glad of it!” 

The drivers did not bother to answer him in the cold but simply guided the horses to follow Zevran and Alistair toward The Bearded Belly.

“Vincento? What are you talking about?” Alistair asked, arching an eyebrow at his friend. 

“You see Alistair,” Zevran whispered with a sly smile, “We all know that travel in these conditions will be impossible, so why not stay and make merry.”

Alistair nodded impatiently, “Yes well that still doesn’t explain those two. You know I’ve just spent near the last of our coin on boots and cloaks for us all. I can’t pay for whatever they have.” 

Zevran laughed heartily. “Ahh so honorable. I had asked Madame if she would be able to procure an order of spirits and other libations, for it is Midwinter this evening. She thought there would be no way the order would arrive in time. So being a resourceful man, I asked around town and met these fine fellows. They were able to put me in contact with a very accommodating--” 

“This is smuggled isn’t it,” Alistair said flatly. 

“Oh not at all, these are friends of my Antivan friend Vincento in Kirkwall,” Zevran replied, but did not sound convincing. 

“Let me guess, your friend is a merchant who sells smuggled liquor.” Alistair said, easing up and waiting for Zevran to finish his tale. 

“I assure you, these have all been paid for. I even have a receipt for Madame Delphine. Look.” Zevran started to pull up the straps of his leather skirting to retrieve the document.

“I believe you.” Alistair hastily cried. “Even if this is trouble, no one is going to reach us here in even a few hours. I hate feeling stuck but you all are right. We will simply have to wait this storm out.”

“That’s the spirit!” Zevran said, emphasizing the last word to make his joke. 

When they reached The Bearded Belly, Alistair set his packages on a wooden table and returned outside to help Zevran and his… friends bring the goods inside.  
Morrigan, who hardly ever wore anything over her gauzy top, was sitting near by draped in a fur mantle. 

“Who is going to drink all that?” she asked them. At this, Oghren’s fiery hair could be seen just above the bar. 

“Did someone say drink?” he slurred and then collapsed back onto the ground with a thud.

* * *

Calandriel finally awoke late in the morning. She had been sleeping poorly the last part of their journey, between her growing anxiety about visiting the Circle tower she’d once called home, and the arduous travels of the day. This was the first time in a long time that she had woken up with no tension in her muscles, no pain in her back, and an overall significant sense of well-being. She was so cozy under the thick woolen blanket that she felt like she might never get out of bed at all. With a great effort, she pulled herself up in bed and glanced around the room. The fire had officially died out; its last remaining embers dulling to bits of charcoal. The room smelled of its smoky, smoldering warmth, woody and inviting, mixed with the lavender fragrance of the previous night’s bath. And there was something else. _Leather?_ She thought for a moment, trying to remember the events of the previous evening. She’d had a bath, and then… “Fenris.” she whispered aloud.

Thoughts began to race through her mind. What had they done? Had he spent the night with her? _Think, Calan, think! Oh, why did you have so much wine?_ She decided retracing her footsteps might help jog her memory. With a deep breath, she pulled back the heated comfort of the woolen blanket and forced herself out of bed. As her feet touched the wooden floor, she was grateful for being an elf. There was no need for them to ever wear shoes if they didn’t want to, because their feet adapted to any kind of condition, hot or cold. That didn’t mean the rest of her wasn’t chilled, though. She shivered and made her way to the room divider, where her trusty purple robe was draped. She pulled it on hastily before examining the bathtub and vanity nearby. The empty wine bottle sat where she’d left it the night before, with two glasses on either side. _So he was here, for sure._ She picked up the bottle and gave it a sniff. _Good stuff,_ she thought, before setting it back down again. Next, she glanced down at the tub, trying to memorize the details of it before closing her eyes. 

In her mind, she saw Fenris sprawled out in the tub, iridescent bubbles clinging to his body, obscuring the majority of it from her vision. Then she remembered. _I only healed him._ With a great sigh of relief, she gathered herself and left the room with a click of the door. 

Downstairs, she rejoined the rest of the party in the common room. Alistair was sorting through the brown-paper wrapped parcels he’d acquired that morning. Zevran was at the bar with Madame Delphine, her rosy cheeks alight with mirth as she giggled at one of his bawdy tales. Morrigan sat near the hearth, reading some ponderous spell tome, while Oghren gaped at Zevran and Delphine with a mixture of jealousy and lust. Only two of their party were missing. Fenris, which was no shock to her, and Astrid. She sat down at the table where Alistair was going through his purchases.

“She’s just in the parlor over there,” he said, seemingly reading her mind, though he was distracted looking at a scrap of parchment on which he’d written his list. “With that redheaded rogue,” he added. 

“You don’t seem too perturbed,” Calandriel commented. “Do you trust this woman?”

Alistair looked up from his list and sighed. “Not exactly… But she helped us last night. And… Astrid has proven herself more than capable.” The words were obviously hard for him to say, but he managed it in a single breath. 

Satisfied, Calandriel changed the subject. “What’s all this?”

“Winter clothes, provisions, etc. I figured we could all open them tonight. Since we have to stay and what with it being a celebration and all... “ He glanced up at the bar and continued, “Madame Delphine has informed us that there is to be a big festival tonight. In the town square.”

“But it’s _freezing!_ ” Calandriel said. “And the snow is up to the windows!”

“I know,” Alistair said gruffly. “But Madame Delphine has assured us that enough of it will be cleared away to make it to the square. There is to be a bonfire.” 

“Well, that sounds more like it,” said Calandriel, imagining the warmth of a gigantic fire. She knew Alistair would prefer to make more progress than to spend another night in South Reach, but she was secretly glad for the delay. “Well… I’ll leave you to it then.” With that, she got up and made her way towards the fire, carefully avoiding Zevran along the way, and sat down next to Morrigan to inquire about her book.

* * *

“So you see, there is more to being a bard than just singing and entertaining the guests,” Leliana said slyly. She had just gone over some of the secrets of the world of professional spies. How to charm nobles, blackmailing, shameless flirtations, eavesdropping, befriending the help, utilizing pickpockets, alienages and ravens to dispatch and gather information; the basics of the Game. And most importantly, she had emphasized how not to get caught. “A good spy is one who is never noticed. Sure, they can think your voice is pretty, but they should never be able to connect you. In fact, they should never even have an inkling that they are involved in a plot.”

“This is all a bit overwhelming,” Astrid said uncertainly, “but I think I can manage.”

“Of course you can. For you have me as a teacher!” The diminutive rogue giggled, her voice bell-like and sweet. “Have you ever heard of Zither? Or Dandelion? Proteges of mine, actually.” She smiled, remembering them fondly.

Astrid had indeed heard of them, though only for their renowned voices, musicianship and poetic brilliance. In fact, she had once seen the famous Zither perform in her hometown of Highever. She had still been a teenager and convinced her father to take her and a friend to the great pavilion where concerts, theatrical performances, and philosophical discussions were held publicly. It was a place where both nobles and lower class people mingled, though the truly elite could pay to sit separately from the common folk, high above in comfortable covered loges with plush furniture. It was there that she leaned forward over the railing, rapt with attention and admiration for the beautiful bard who serenaded them all. She had fallen in love that day. Even though Zither always wore a mask, polished to brightest silver and inlaid with gems and abalone seashell, no one could deny his charisma. He charmed the audience with his easy banter, his golden voice, the quickness of his fingers, and most of all, thought Astrid, those tight satin pants of his.

There was a knock on the door that caused Astrid to physically start, awakened from her memory of the alluring balladeer. 

“Come in,” Leliana said invitingly. 

Alistair’s head presently peeked in. “Ah, it’s… time to eat,” he said, his voice unsure. 

“Excellent. We were just finishing up for the day,” said Leliana, getting up from her chair. 

“Yes. Yes we were,” said Astrid, feeling her cheeks burn a little at the sight of the knight in the doorway. 

“We shall continue tomorrow at camp,” said the redheaded bard. “That is, if this snow lets up and if you’ll allow me to accompany you?”

Astrid glanced at Alistair, his mouth forming into the shape of one who is about to express something doubtful, but she spoke first. “Of course!” 

Leliana smiled at each of them and made her way into the common room. 

Alistair sighed, a little deflated, but did not protest. “Come on,” he said, and he linked arms with Astrid, leading her toward their midday meal.


	39. The Midwinter Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oghren gets some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter still isn't finished, because I've been slowly slogging away at it for some time in between being busy with other things. I'm feeling too burnt out to write at the moment, so I figured I'd post what we have.
> 
> Edit: FINALLY!!!! I have been trying to get a couple of these scenes out since Christmas of last year. I may write a bit more to conclude the chapter a little better but for now, I just wanted to get it out into the world.

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully, the barely visible sun setting much earlier than anticipated. Each of them kept busy with conversations and preparations. Calandriel and Morrigan had gotten into a heated discussion about the techniques of a particular spell in Morrigan’s book and spent the afternoon arguing with each other until Calandriel gave up and joined Astrid and Alistair’s table. 

“I trust the two of you still have your wits?” she said, plopping down in one of the chairs. She massaged her temples, channeling a small amount of magic into her brain to reduce the surmounting headache. “That’s better.”

“You really oughtn’t use any more magic here,” Alistair said, glancing around nervously at the now-full pub. It must have been after five o’ clock. 

Calandriel gave him a hard glare but remained silent. Despite waking up that morning in luxurious comfort, she now felt testy and irritable. She was angry with Morrigan, though secretly grateful to have something else to think about besides the ever-gnawing thought that no one had seen Fenris all day. Perhaps he had finally abandoned them, not really being tied to their cause anyway. 

Noticing the pained looked on her face, Alistair softened. “I’m sorry. Both of you know how I worry. Here, let’s open the parcels now. I think you’ll want them for the bonfire tonight.” He grinned, got up, and rallied the rest of their party, save Fenris, who was still not present. Leliana watched from afar, though she seemingly didn’t mind being excluded from this event. 

Once everyone was seated around the table, Alistair doled out the packages one by one. “Everyone have theirs? Right. Let’s just open them at the same time!” He looked rather excited. 

Underneath the plain brown paper wrappings were cloaks; heavy, fur-lined, beautiful cloaks.

“Would you ever guess that there’s a cloak-maker of this quality in South Reach?” Alistair said, beaming. “I tried to pick out which ones you’d all like.” His cheeks pinkened slightly. 

Alistair had been successful in deeming which cloak would suit which of his companions. There was a rich green for Zevran, a shade of burgundy wine for Morrigan, burnt orange and a high hem for Oghren, white for Calandriel, and a caramel-brown color for Astrid. His own was a muted sky blue, and each was wrought with delicate patterns done in cloth-of-gold or silver. The hoods were trimmed with fur for added warmth and a handsome metal-worked clasp went around the throat of each one. 

“This is gorgeous!” Astrid said, holding hers aloft, stroking the delicate fur with her thumbs.

Alistair gazed around, surprised to see that nearly everyone’s eyes shown glossy. 

“Thank you!” They all said in one fashion or another. “But how did you pay for this?” Morrigan asked.

“Never you mind!” Alistair said with a wink. “I’m glad you all like them. But I did get one more… For Fenris. Calandriel, you seem to get on well with that elf, would you give it to him at the festival, if you see him?”

Interrupted from fawning over the gorgeous garment, Calandriel jumped and nodded. When she looked away from Alistair, she accidentally made eye contact with Zevran across the table, and quickly looked away again, feeling embarrassed. She could feel his amber gaze lingering on her long after she looked away, his eyes burning into her. 

“My dears, it is about time for ze festivities to begin!” Madame Delphine said, bustling over to their table. She put a hand on either one of Zevran’s shoulders in a genial fashion. “I have made sure to have your spirits delivered to my tent in the square. Don’t worry, a representative of The Bearded Belly will make sure no one touches them.”

“Will you not be joining us?” Astrid asked. 

“I’m afraid not, my dear. Someone has to stay to keep things running.”

“Well,” said Oghren, standing up and hitching up his pants in what was somehow supposed to be a gallant gesture, “Looks like I’ll see you lot when you get back, heh heh.”

Madame Delphine giggled like a schoolgirl and she and the dwarf departed. 

With that, the party stood and donned their new cloaks. Calandriel grabbed the last parcel and quickly bolted out the door, eager to avoid both Zevran and Morrigan.

“Aren’t you coming?” Astrid asked Alistair, who hadn’t moved just yet. 

“Of course. I just… need to get something first. I’ll meet you there,” he said, and his smile reassured her. 

“Hey, Calan, wait up!” Astrid quickened her pace and met up with the elven woman outside. The sky was pitch black already, but the snow was a brilliant white, sparkling by the light of the nearly-full moon. All along the street, torches flickered merrily, and people walked about the narrow lanes that had been carved through the snow. They could see their breath like clouds of smoke, though as Astrid gazed upwards, she was pleased to see that there were no clouds in the sky. The storm had passed and they would be able to continue their journey on the morrow. “Are you okay?” 

Calandriel glanced over her shoulder, saw that there was no one there, and heaved a great sigh. The air came out in a puff of cold white smoke. “I’m alright. Just… stressed. Since the thing with Zevran.” She knew she could trust this woman--her best friend--but she didn’t much feel like discussing her fears about visiting the Circle. Astrid wasn’t a mage and therefore might not understand the gravity of the situation. 

“I thought so,” Astrid said as the two of them walked along, following festively decorated signs for the town square. “What he did to you was very wrong, though. He hurt you, and you don’t deserve that.”

Calandriel stopped at her words, feeling her eyes beginning to well with tears. 

“I think he still does care a great deal for you, but… you shouldn’t feel like you owe him anything. Do you want me to kick his ass for you?” She struck a fierce pose. 

Calandriel laughed at that and hugged her, the package she held nearly sliding out of her arm as they held their embrace. “Thank you, but you don’t have to do that… Even though I’d love to see it!” She said, as they broke apart once again. 

As they started walking again, turning down a side street, Astrid continued. “What about that Fenris chap?” she asked nonchalantly. 

“What about him?” Calandriel said, clutching the package more tightly to her breast, as if protecting it from the cold. “Oh! I can hear the music! It must be over here.”

Indeed, there _was_ music coming from one street over. The two of them wended their way between a pair of close-together buildings and emerged in the thick of the festival. The source of the music came from a stage to their left where a troupe of energetic minstrels were performing, bundled up in many layers to keep out the chill. Despite the cold, their movements were so vigorous that they appeared to be sweating, and one of the dancers had even stripped down to clothing that would have been more appropriate for a summer's day than for a Midwinter festival. All around there were tents erected, festooned with holly and mistletoe and underneath these were long tables and benches, crammed with mostly humans, some dwarves, and the rare elf. More torches blazed and candles winked and flickered on every surface, though the _piece de resistance_ was the grand bonfire itself. Blazing in the very center of the square, its flames went up at least ten feet high and the heat of it radiated even further. 

“I think I see Delphine’s booth!” Astrid said, pointing to one of the tents. A makeshift sign hung from the canvas, bearing the name of her establishment. Beneath its shelter were several barrel kegs, a bar, a steaming cauldron heated by a small fire, and a teenaged elven boy running the show. Several people were lined up to purchase mugs of ale and hot spiced wine. 

“Well, don’t stand there _gawking_ at the whole affair!” Morrigan said behind them. Zevran and Leliana were with her, followed by Alistair, carrying another one of the brown paper packages. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could do with a strong drink.” Not one for dawdling, she shouldered her way past them and sidled up to the temporary bar, ignoring the line of patrons. Leaning forward, she undid the clasp of her cloak and fingered the stone of the Keeper’s necklace she’d been given. “Excuse me, young man. I believe Delphine left something for us here?”

Immediately forgetting the line of patiently-waiting customers, the elven boy leapt at the opportunity to assist Morrigan. “Yes, serah! I have it all here!” He knelt down behind the bar and emerged with a small crate containing all the smuggled spirits that Zevran had ordered. “And Delphine said if there is anything else you should want, just ask!” he said in a harried tone as irritated voices rose up from the line.

“A round of spiced wine for me and my companions, if you please?” Morrigan said, blinking prettily. Her voice was oddly sweet and didn’t suit her at all. 

The boy looked uncomfortable at the request, as it would put an even longer hold on his line of customers, but another glance at Morrigan’s… necklace… convinced him. When they had all been served mugs of the spiced wine, Alistair passed a coin to the boy for his trouble and apologized to the inconvenienced crowd while Morrigan immediately redid the clasp of her cloak. 

“What the hell kind of magic was _that_?” Calandriel asked. 

“I told you. I needed a drink,” said Morrigan in her usual haughty tone. “And that was no magic.”

“My dear Morrigan, I must disagree,” Zevran chimed in.

Morrigan made a disgusted noise, slapped him, and everyone had a good chuckle. 

Each of them milled about, savoring the complex tastes of oranges, cinnamon, ginger, and cloves on their tongues. Zevran had grabbed the crate of mystery liquor and brought it over to one of the larger tents where people were sitting and feasting. “I too have presents for everyone!” He exclaimed, handing them each a flask. “Now what can I fill them with?” 

Calandriel’s hand shook slightly as Zevran filled her flask with a pale golden pear wine. Thankfully, it didn’t seem that anyone took notice, and just as soon as he had filled her container, he was on to the next person. Calandriel took a drink and instantly began to feel warm and fuzzy inside. Knowing Zevran, this stuff was strong, and after what happened the previous night, she knew she must pace herself. Despite this, she already found herself gulping down another drink, its crisp flavor soothing. “What did _you_ get?” She asked Astrid, after everyone’s flasks had been filled. 

“Tastes like…” Astrid took a sip and smacked her tongue a few times, thinking. “Cream and honey, with a hint of cinnamon. Definitely mead. Definitely delicious.”  
They all began to fall into a relaxed state, toasting each other for various things, commenting on the flute and drums, profusely thanking Alistair for the cloaks.

“Which reminds me,” he whispered to Astrid, laying a hand gently on her arm. “I have something else for you.” He led her away from the rest of the group, who seemed to take no notice of their departure, and sat down on a bench closer to the bonfire. “I wanted to get you a little something extra. It’s not much, but you mean so much to me.”

“Alistair, I--” she began, but he urged her to open the parcel. Inside was a pair of brown leather boots, above-the-knee style, lined inside with thick, warm fur. Unlike the kinds of shoes she had grown up wearing as a noble’s daughter in Highever, these weren’t particularly ornate, though the leather was embellished with simple designs along the edges and the craftsmanship was obviously high calibre. She had never seen a more beautiful pair of shoes in her life. “These are wonderful,” she said, at a complete loss for words. “I want to put them on now!” 

Alistair laughed as she awkwardly pulled off her worn, old boots in a hurry and slipped on the new ones, careful not to let her feet touch the snow or be exposed too long. She pulled up her cloak to show them off and Alistair thought they suited her quite well. In fact, the way she stood there displaying her leg for him with the cloak above her knee was almost too much for him. Thankfully, she dropped it down and hugged him fiercely before he had a chance to ravage her right there in front of the whole festival. After a moment in each other’s arms, she gave him a kiss that was tender at first, then grew to passion. He could feel himself rising down below, and for a moment, was completely lost in the moment, forgetting where they were. That is, until a volley of raucous applause and whoops went up from the rest of their party, who happened to be standing not terribly far away. Breaking apart, the rosy-cheeked lovers could see their friends staring their way, their flasks raised in salute.

“Yeah, yeah,” Alistair said, waving his hands at them. “You lot are a bunch of dirty-minded mabari, aren’t you?”

Coincidentally, as Alistair made his quip, the sound of dogs barking could be heard not far off. The crowd craned their necks to see what all the commotion was about, but with so many people in the vicinity, it was hard to see. 

“Looks like the Tevinter didn’t bugger off after all,” Morrigan said.

“You said ‘bugger!’” Zevran giggled gleefully, making even Morrigan crack a smile. The only one who didn’t laugh was Calandriel. She felt a strange sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as she saw the elven man wade through the crowd of people, pulling behind him with some effort a sled laden with the body of a very large deer. It would be enough to feed several people. She watched as some festival official, maybe even the mayor, greeted him and proffered his thanks, and noted the way Fenris merely nodded grimly, eager to avoid the pleasantries. 

_Of course he has to be carrying a deer,_ thought Calandriel. _Alright, just go give him the cloak and be done with it. It’s not even from me, anyway._ Calandriel squared her shoulders and strode purposefully through the crowd toward him.

“Calan, where are you going?” Astrid called after her friend, but Calandriel paid her no mind. She looked preoccupied with Alistair. 

As Calandriel followed Fenris’ fair head with her keen eyes, she could see that he and the official were walking toward the bonfire in the central square. She quickened her pace, sidling past merry festival-goers. By the time she reached the bonfire, Fenris and a man who she presumed to be the butcher of South Reach were already beginning to skin the great buck. The two knelt on the ground as they worked from end to end, taking turns to hold the carcass still as the other carved.  
“Should roast well for a lovely venison stew,” the butcher said as he stripped a great swath of the deer’s hide from its flanks. 

Fenris looked up to see Calandriel standing before them and momentarily lost his grip on the buck’s two front legs, causing the body to slide back so the butcher fell backwards. 

“Lost my grip,” Fenris muttered to the butcher, stammering to say anything else. The butcher gave Calandriel an appreciative once-over and smiled. 

“I’ll say!” the butcher cried. “Say, young ser, you’ve done the hard work of hunting this handsome buck. Why don’t you leave the rest to me?”

Fenris shook his head in protest, but the butcher insisted. Fenris got up and stood before Calandriel, who had been standing awkwardly in front of them the whole time. She was bundled in a beautiful white cloak, making her seem more beautiful and ethereal than ever. Covered up as she was, all Fenris could think about was her round, plump buttocks and how close they had been-- 

“GAH!” Fenris cried out.

“Is something wrong?” Calandriel asked. “It was kind of you to hunt for the feast tonight.”

Fenris mopped a gloved hand over his face, but realized his gloves still had blood from the deer on them. He held his hands in front of them, as though they had just appeared. Why was he always so awkward and angry in front of her? Did she remember last night?

“Wait here!” Calandriel said. She whisked away, white as a cloud in the crowd of South Reachers. She was back in a moment, cupping a small heap of powdery snow in her hands. She also, Fenris noted, held a paper parcel under her arm beneath her cloak. Calandriel held out some snow for Fenris. He tentatively reached out his gloved hands to take some, fearful of staining her cloak. Their hands momentarily clasped as Calan gave him the snow. They were still near enough to the fire that it did not take long for the snow to melt. The liquid dripped from his gloves in reddish black droplets. Afterward, Fenris wiped his hands on the sides of his black breeches.

“Damn!” Calandriel cursed, as the package slipped from under her arms, skidding across the packed snow and stopping right at Fenris’s feet.  
“What’s this?” he asked, arching a black eyebrow in curiosity. Calandriel hadn’t noticed this detail before. His hair was as white as the snow that surrounded them, and yet his brows were as black as the leather armor that he wore. She wondered for a moment if it was some piebald partial albinism that he was born with, or if it had something to do with his markings. 

Snapping back to the present, Calandriel stammered, “It-it’s for you. From Alistair,” she made sure to say firmly. 

For a moment, Fenris’s expression changed entirely, his face transforming with a mix of emotions that ranged from surprise to fear to… tenderness? But before she could read more into it, he cleared his throat and resumed his usual stoicism, his thoughts completely undetectable. Calandriel shivered. 

“Come, let us move to the shelter and I will open it,” Fenris said, his face softening a little as he extended a hand to help her up. She took it willingly, if a little nervously, and they made their way to an unoccupied table under a deserted tent. 

Sitting down, the Tevinter elf carefully unwrapped the package to reveal his very own winter cloak. His was black, to match his armor. _And his eyebrows,_ Calandriel thought, and shook her head at the silly idea. Fenris raised one such brow at her again and she feigned an awkward smile. 

Fenris marvelled at the beautiful cloak, embroidered with fine silver threads, the hood lined with thick, silvery grey fur. His expression was totally unreadable now, though he stood and donned the cloak immediately, revelling in its immediate heat. He hadn’t realized just how cold he’d been this entire time until now. He had gotten so used to numbing himself from cold, sickness, pain, and memories, that it overwhelmed him now to feel such warmth. “I shall have to tell Alistair thank you--” he said, but whatever other sentiments he might have given were cut off abruptly. 

A jolly-looking woman with cheeks as red and round as apples came bounding up to them, ringing a bell loudly in one hand, while a procession of drunkards danced and swayed behind her. “Mistletoe, young lovers!” she said in a sing-song voice, making Calandriel spring from her bench. “If ye be sittin’ ‘neath a twig o’ ‘toe, together yer lips must go!” She cackled and her followers burst into laughter, clanking tankards and offering their blessings. The two of them glanced up, and sure enough, dangling from the canvas ceiling, were twigs of mistletoe. “Come now, come now, don’t be shy!” The woman encouraged, and it seemed to both Calandriel and Fenris that moments like these were what this woman lived for. Something in her expression told them she’d been waiting for this all year. She smiled a toothless smile at them, clanging her bell once more. Calandriel looked around and saw more faces turned towards them from the other tables nearby, their friendly, inebriated faces expectant and cheerful. 

Calandriel willed herself to look at Fenris and was relieved to see that he wasn’t totally disgusted. In fact, for the first time ever, his cheeks looked to be as red as Madame Mistletoe Enforcer’s. “We don’t have to--” she whispered to him, but before she could finish, he leaned toward her and kissed her squarely on the cheek. The sounds of various hoots and hollers and the clanging of the bell went up all around them, but to Calandriel, it all seemed very far away. 

“Aye, that be good enough!” The woman roared and there was much applause around her. She extracted from her belt two garlands of red berries and clapped each of these around their heads before departing, her drunken entourage in tow. Calandriel could feel her hearing returning to normal and thought she heard one of the crowd muttering something like, “maybe they’re brother and sister, with that queer white hair o’ theirs.”

“I should find Alistair… And thank him for the cloak,” Fenris said breathlessly. Before Calandriel could even think to formulate a reply, he had departed. Despite the chill in the winter air, Calandriel’s fair cheek burned where Fenris’s lips had touched her skin. She drew a hand up to her face, touching it and wondering if she had imagined the whole thing. Calandriel peered around the tent, searching for Fenris in the crowd of revelers. 

“Did yer beau run off on you already?” the plump woman called out to Calandriel. “Better get ‘im back with a kiss and catch!” At this, a tipsy festival-goer started to chase after the woman, arms outstretched before him. Calandriel gave a half smile and left them to their antics. She felt emboldened by their merry behavior. She was determined to find out if the kiss was friendly or something more. It was the Midwinter Festival, after all.

* * *

Alistair and Astrid were enjoying themselves at the heart of the festivities. There were games and activities to partake in, a dancing contest, and of course, the delicious feast. Fenris stopped short when he saw them, sitting together at one of the tables. Alistair was feeding berries to his lady love, and she was laughing in the way that only someone who is very much in love seems to do. Everyone around him--but especially those two--seemed so vibrant and full of life, forgetful of the Blight and the days of hard toil out in the sun. It seemed to him that everyone else glowed with a jewel-like brilliance, whilst he floated through them unseen, a black and white ghost from the Fade. No one seemed to notice as he slipped away.

“Just think, this time tomorrow, we will likely be camped out in our tents, freezing our asses off on our way to the Circle,” Astrid said, momentarily snapping back to the present. 

“I say we don’t speak of such things tonight,” Alistair said, raising his glass to toast and raising one eyebrow inquiringly. 

Astrid’s face broke into a smile once again as she clinked her glass against his. “Since when are _you_ so relaxed?”

“Since I met you, Astrid,” he said, his tone more serious. “I’ll admit I’m something of a worrywort, but I feel so much more at ease knowing that you are at my side.”

Astrid, not sure what to say, drained the last of her sweet mead with satisfaction. 

“Come,” Alistair said, “I have one more gift for you tonight.”

Alistair extended his hand, and Astrid took it gingerly, hoisting herself from the bench upon which she sat. He led her through the thrumming crowd, the music cutting merrily through the chatter. Astrid felt butterflies in her stomach as he led her away. Alistair had already given her more than enough--what else could he have in store? 

Soon, she recognized the familiar, swinging sign of The Bearded Belly, and before she knew it, they were once again occupying the room they had rented, together away from the hustle and bustle of the festival, finally alone. The hearth was blazing, and the room lit up and sparkling with several candelabra on each surface. Astrid squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light and saw that the bed was sprinkled with rose petals. In the center of the bed lay a solitary book, handsomely bound in brown leather with gilt edges. Astrid turned to look at Alistair and he sheepishly gestured towards the book, smiling nervously. She stepped around the bed and sat down on its edge, then grasped the book, her fingers brushing over the supple leather. She opened to the first, empty page and breathed in the scent of crisp, fresh parchment--the scent of possibilities, memories, and adventure. She flipped through the first few pages and saw that each page was blank. “A journal!” She said excitedly. Now, in addition to the reading material she carried, she had a place to record her thoughts. With all that had happened, she had nearly forgotten how much she enjoyed writing. Her memory briefly floated back to the library at Highever, where she spent rainy days writing poems and romantic stories. On nice days, she would sit out on one of the grand balconies and write in her diary or scrawl letters to her friends over afternoon tea. 

“Check the bookmark,” Alistair encouraged, sounding breathless.

Astrid gazed down at the book and found the pink ribbon that marked one of the pages. Curiously, she turned to it and saw that a small chunk of the pages had been carved out near the top to make a kind of secret compartment, in which was nestled a glistening silver ring. Astrid’s heart began to beat faster at the sight of it, and the butterflies swooped around excitedly in the pit of her stomach. She looked up at Alistair, who was now kneeling before her. She couldn’t believe it. 

“Astrid Cousland,” Alistair began, his voice even and sure. “I could never love anyone as I love you, and know that we are meant to be together. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?” He placed both of his hands gently on top of hers, over the place where the ring was tucked away. 

“Oh, Alistair!” Astrid said, her vision becoming bleary as tears welled up in her eyes. “Of course! Of course I will! I love you!” She had just a moment to see the look of relief and elation on Alistair’s face before throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace. They each stood, wrapped in each other’s arms for what felt like too short a moment before breaking apart once again. Alistair pried the ring from its hiding place and slipped it onto Astrid’s delicate finger. The fit was perfect. 

“How did you--” Astrid began, but Alistair hushed her. “I’ve been carrying the ring since Orzammar. I had it made when we were there. It’s enchanted with a protection rune. You can see the mark of it on the inside if you look…”

“And how did you manage all this?” Astrid said, gesturing around their romantic setting. 

“Madame Delphine, of course,” he said. “...And I got a few suggestions from Zevran.”

“ _Zevran_ knew about this?” Astrid said, amused. 

“Sword-swallower he is, he does know a thing or two about romance.”

“And heartbreaking,” Astrid added, a little bitter, thinking of her friend. 

“Well, yes.” Alistair admitted. “But not to worry, my love, for I know nothing of that art myself.” He smiled genuinely, and Astrid felt her knees go weak. She knew it was true; Alistair was the most pure of heart person in existence as far as she knew. “I know it hasn’t been that long, but I have never been surer of anything in my life. I want you always to be at my side,” he took both of her hands and leaned in to kiss her, their lips at first brushing carefully together before fiercely engaging one another. Astrid melted into his embrace, her hands cupping the firm lines of his chin, grazing against the toughness of his golden stubble, a sharp contrast to the softness of his hair and sideburns. She let out a gasp of pleasure as his hands journeyed their way down the length of her body, searching eagerly.

* * *

They knew not how long they lay in each other’s embrace, nor how much time had passed since they’d slipped between the sheets, but it mattered little to either of them. For the first time since their journey had begun, they felt entirely at peace. The world outside their window might be dark and dangerous, but there inside that room, they had never felt a greater happiness.

* * *

Outside, the rest of the companions were winding down from the festival activities, and Oghren was assumed to still be in the company of Madame Delphine.

Calandriel wandered through the remaining revelers, her mind reeling from wine, cold, and the lingering memory of Fenris’s lips pressed against her cheek. She was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she wasn’t even paying attention to where she was going and bumped straight into somebody, the act of which knocked her off her feet. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, as she took the hand of the person she’d barrelled into. To her relief, it was Zevran, and of course, he was not angry at all, but quite the opposite. His eyes glinted with the mirth of drink, and his mouth widened into a merry grin. 

“No need to apologize, my dear Calandriel,” he said, pulling her closer to him and helping to dust off the snow. “Why, just to be in the vicinity of your magnificent radiance is a pleasure! You could slap me, beat me down, and tie me up, and I would only beg for more!” 

Despite her wishes to do just that to him after the betrayal she could never forget, she couldn’t help but still feel weak when he spoke to her like that. And this was the closest she had been to him in such a long time that she’d nearly forgotten his scent and the way it intoxicated her. 

“But, my dear, you are shivering!” Zevran noted astutely. “Here, you must share some of this drink with me. It is warming for the body as well as for the soul.” He produced his flask from somewhere beneath his new woolen cloak and handed it to her. “A toast to our adventure! ...And to our friendship.” He added tenderly.

She took it eagerly and drank, feeling her throat fill with instant fire. She coughed as she handed it back to him, but felt herself somewhat renewed. “Thank you, Zevran,” she said, and put her arms around him in a warm embrace. 

“Happiest of Yules, my moonflower,” Zevran whispered, his strong arms wrapped around her, his hands gently caressing the length of her hair. 

No words needed to be said, but for the first time since their falling out, Calandriel felt that things were mended between the two of them. As she slowly opened her eyes again though, she saw a flash of black and the billowing of a cloak between distant figures in the crowd. _Fenris._

“I-I have to go. Thanks for… everything, Zevran,” she said, pulling away from him. 

Zevran merely nodded and let her go, watching knowingly as she proceeded through the crowd of festival-goers, in pursuit of their mysterious companion.

Calandriel emerged from the last ring of townspeople with some effort, making her way to the very edge of the village. Here, she paused, for it was no longer the bright, cheery, festive atmosphere of South Reach, but instead a desolate landscape of snow-capped pines looming before her. The only sign of life were the footprints that led away from the town. With a resolute intake of breath, she followed them, feeling grateful that the moon above was so full. The snow glinted and glittered in its light, sparkling like the diamonds of Orzammar. 

Here, the snow was very thick where the trees did not cover, but soon the land gave way to other trees; ash and oaks and spindly birches. She began to feel less afraid, taking comfort in the trees’ presence. Elves and trees share a deep connection, just as the dwarves are connected to the stone that surrounds them.

At last, the tracks stopped, and she found him, resting against the trunk of a mighty oak. “Fenris?” she called tentatively. 

He turned abruptly, clearly not expecting his location to be discovered so easily. He glanced away again just as quickly to obscure his face, wiping a hand across his eyes. “What do you want?” 

Calandriel took a step closer. “What are you doing out here? You’ll freeze.”

“And why should that matter to you?” He turned around fully, looking more than ever like a bristling wolf that had been locked in a cage for far too long. 

“Because… I care about you,” Calandriel said, slowly taking another step toward him. She could see the closer she got that his eyes looked glassy. 

“And what of Zevran? I suppose he cares for my welfare as well.”

“Fenris… What do you mean?” She was very close to him now. Tears did indeed threaten to spill from his brilliantly green eyes. She noticed something else too. At first, she thought it was the reflective quality of the light off the snow, but soon realized it was something entirely different. The lyrium in his skin had begun to glow. It was faint at first, but grew more radiant and iridescent the closer she came to him.

“I’m warning you… Do not come any closer!” Fenris growled. She could see the red stain of wine lingering on his full lips. 

She didn’t know if it was the fire of Zevran’s drink, or the comfort of the trees around her, but she felt compelled not to listen to him. Somehow, she knew that he would not hurt her. She slowly reached a hand out to him, shaking slightly, and rested it against his skin, careful to channel enough healing magic so as not to cause him any pain. 

“Aghhhhh!” Fenris groaned, and before she knew what was happening, he had thrown her against the trunk of the massive oak tree under which they stood. Fear and Fenris’s hands on either side of her gripped her in their clutches as she saw the lyrium glow take over his entire being. His eyes changed from emerald green to the ethereal aquamarine of the lyrium and she was nearly blinded by its brilliance. Just as she was contemplating whether she should use magic on him, the lyrium began to fade, its glow diminishing slowly, but not disappearing entirely. Fenris breathed heavily. “I’m… so sorry,” he said, his body pressing in on her. “I never meant for this to happen.”

“It’s alright, Fenris,” Calandriel breathed.

“It’s just… Can’t you see? I…” His breathing came ragged and he closed his eyes to focus himself. When he opened them again, he looked her squarely in the eyes. Their faces were nearly touching. “I… want you, Calandriel. Like I’ve never wanted anyone or anything before.” 

Calandriel’s heart began to pound fiercely in her chest and she found that she could not catch her breath, nor could she even speak. She just gazed up breathless and wordless into the elven man’s eyes as he leaned inwards, the scent of leather mingling with cool mint and snow reaching her nose. She could see the cloud of white vapor that was his breath before she felt it hot on her lips, and then the taste of red wine as his tongue pressed against hers. She sighed involuntarily, melting into his arms as he held her, pinned helplessly between his body and the tree.


End file.
